Surreal TV
by The Laughing Fish
Summary: In an attempt to boost ratings, the Joker becomes the star of a reality show. But how will Harley react to the sight of her ex on national television? A joint effort by Princessebee and Jarec. UPDATED! Chapter Eleven by Jarec
1. Chapter 1

It was nine o'clock on Wednesday night, and all across America people were tuning in to their latest guilty pleasure: Fancy Living, starring Francine "Fancy" Carlton

The restaurant had been only too pleased to let them in. They knew who they were of course- every one in Gotham seemed to love Fancy Living, starring Francine "Fancy" Carlton.

Ms. Carlton, heiress to the Carlton fashion empire, was the newest rich girl to get her own reality show. Blonde, blue-eyed and with far more money than brains or class, she fit in well on network television. Cameras followed her around all day every day, recording the excesses and inanity that made up her life, and at the end of the week the producers edited the footage to produce an hours entertainment. Fancy was very happy with this arrangement- she got money (not that she needed it), she got to show off her immense wardrobe, and Mike the Cameraman was such fun! But best of all, the cameras never turned off- and she loved being the center of attention.

Currently, however, this was not the case.

"God, will you LOOK at them?" Fancy said, gesturing at the crowd of people surrounding table six. Table six was where two of Hollywood's biggest stars were currently seated and was the center of a buzz of curiosity and adulation. "It's so tacky the way some people swarm all over the rich and famous."

Mike rolled his eyes even as he kept filming. After months of close exposure to the girl,he knew that Fancy would sell her soul to be the subject of such blind worship. Although Fancy Living was doing well in the ratings, it wasn't a smash hit- and Fancy was still not as famous as she wished. But he knew better than to say anything. For what the network was paying him he could put up with a little petty jealousy. God knew he'd put up with a lot worse. From temper tantrums in stores to catfights at the beach, Fancy had lived down to every one of the forty year old cameraman's expectations.

Suddenly, a strange silence spread across the trendy restaurant. It began at the door, and slowly filled the entire room. Diners tapped one another on the shoulder, telling their fellows to look at who had just come into the room. Ever sensitive to shifts in the public's focus, Fancy crane her neck to see what was happening that was so interesting. What she saw caused her mouth to drop open in shock.

Standing at the entrance to the restaurant was the Joker- the most famous person in all of Gotham City. There wasn't a single person in the huge metropolis that didn't recognize his wide grin, pale skin or green hair. Tonight, the Clown Prince of Crime was dressed to the nines in a purple overcoat, broad brimmed purple hat and his usual purple zoot suit. He stood in the doorway, seemingly oblivious to the effect his presence had on the people around him, speaking calmly with the Maitre D'.

"Not one single table free?" The Joker said, his voice tinged with amusement as he scanned the half-empty restaurant. "Certainly doesn't look like it _mon vieux._ HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

'I am very sorry but all these tables have been reserved. There is nothing I can do" the flustered head waiter said, nervously playing with his pen. He was a short, stout man who was losing his hair, and he looked terrified but resolute. In truth, the tables were vacant, but he'd be damned if he let the Joker in to slaughter his clientele. He was probably dead anyway, so why give the brute the satisfaction?

"I see. In that case…" The Mad Mountebank reached one hand into his coat. The entire room flinched, expecting the Joker to withdraw a hand grenade or a pistol. Instead, he took out a small green handkerchief and dabbed at his brow. Putting it back in his pocket, the Joker loudly declared "Then I shall do what I have always done in these situations!"

Somewhere in the back of the room a woman starting crying, but Fancy didn't notice. Her attention was riveted on the Joker- his height, his grin, but especially how he was immediately the focus of the entire room. Slowly, she pushed her chair away from the table.

"What are you doing?" Mike hissed, even as he kept the camera rolling "Don't do anything stupid!"

"Stupid? Mikey, I'm about to make both our careers" Fancy said, as she slowly moved to the front of the restaurant. "Excuse me? Like, pardon me?"

Both the Joker and the Maitre D turned to look at her. "Um, I'd like to invite you to my table. I would be totally honored if you ate with me"

The Joker actually seemed nonplussed for a moment, but then his grin returned. "Well, of course you would dear girl. Lead the way!"

As the pair sat down at their table, Fancy felt everyone's eyes on her. It felt wonderful- she felt like the most important person in the world.

The Joker picked up a menu and began to page through it. A terrified waiter eventually came to the table for their orders. While Foxy ordered a Waldorf Salad, the Joker leered maliciously at the poor young server.

"Tell me" he said, a wicked gleam in his eye "What's funny tonight?"

"Well our specials are…" the waiter paused as his brain registered what he'd heard "I'm sorry? What's FUNNY?"

"Yes. What's funny on the menu tonight? Think carefully about your answer, sonny jim. HAHAHAHAHHAAAA! " The Joker's wide grin told the waiter what could happen if he didn't answer correctly.

"Uh… well the Boston Cream Pie is always funny" Seeing the Joker's expression darken, the waiter hastily added "But not really suited for a main course. How about the rump roast?"

The Grinning Gleeman of Gotham tapped a long, tapered finger against his chin "Rump roast, rump roast… Well, I don't normally work blue but I suppose it will be acceptable. Very well, chumley, rump roast and a wine spritzer."

Grateful to be left alive the waiter left, so quickly he tripped over his own feet and went sprawling.

Mike meanwhile had calmed down slightly. His camera didn't record- it sent the footage to the network production center to be stored and edited. At this very moment, someone was watching this…insanity, and alerting the police. Just the same, though, he kept one eye on the clown's hands at all times. Meanwhile, Fancy tried to be charming.

"So, like, how did you get out of Arkham?" She asked, sipping from her mineral water "Did you grab a guard and force 'em to let you go? Or did you, like, make a break for it while shooting it out with the guards? Or-OH!- did you sneak out through the laundry chute, highjack a truck, and drive to Gotham through the back roads?"

The Joker swallowed a piece of meat and dabbed at his lip with a napkin. "Don't be absurd. They had to let me go. Under the state's new guidelines for release, I'm now a sane man. And isn't that the greatest joke you've ever heard? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!"

At that moment, Fancy's phone chimed- or rather, barked- signalling that the rich girl had a message. It read: 'Go to bathroom and call me. NOW. Morry'. After announcing that she needed to powder her nose, Fancy headed to the ladies room and dialled up Morry.

Morry Levine was the show's producer, the man who had taken a spoiled rich girl and given her her own show. He was one of the most experienced producers of Reality TV in the world- and a master at getting people to abandon their dignity for money and fame. Right now, he was not happy.

"Fancy, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he yelled "Rubbing elbows with the Joker?!"

"Answer me this, Morry" Fancy said, a hard smile on her face "How do you think this will affect our ratings? Up close and personal with the Joker!"

"Fancy, they'll be watching to see how you get KILLED" Morry said. His concern was genuine- Fancy Living was proving to be quite popular and the RealTV network (a specialty channel, which broadcast only reality programming) was very happy with him for setting it up. There was talk of a promotion- maybe even a place on the Board of Directors. All of which would vanish if his star got herself killed.

"Pfft!" Fancy retorted, checking her nails "He's not so tough! What's he, like, a hundred and sixty pounds? Plus, he pulls those dumb signature crimes that tell the cops who did it, and he always wind up behind bars. He's not THAT dangerous, really, so why not get some use outta him? Besides, I signed one of those legal wafers- so if something does happen, you're safe."

"But Fancy" Morry protested, desperate to find some reason to stop this 'by the time we geet this to air next week, it'll be old news! The Joker will probably be caught and what's the point of airing it then?"

Fancy smiled. She'd been afraid of bringing it up, but since Morry had said it "Then don't wait. Put us on NOW"

"What?"

"Put us on now- a Special Presentation of Fancy Living or whatever. It'll be, like, WAY more popular than some dumb rerun of Survivor: East Bumfuck. Gotta think of the bottom line, Morry"

Morry sighed and rubbed his head "All right. We'll go through with it but not live. I want a chance to edit any and all footage- we'll do a two-hour a day special until the freak gets caught. You be careful"

Fancy put her phone away and headed back to the table. She saw the Joker deep in conversation with Mike the Cameraman- or rather to the camera itself.

"…and that, boys and girls, is why you should never feed children to hyenas. Makes the poor animals all gassy." The clown said, then noticed his hostess had returned "Ah, dearest Francine! I trust you've powdered your nose sufficiently?"

The time passed fairly quickly, as the Joker regaled his hostess (and the camera) with tales of his crimes and of life in Gotham's underworld. Eventually, dinner was over.

"Ah, I thank you Francine. That was delicious- and this place is so regal! Much better than that sad little halfway house they put me in" The Joker's face took on an absurdly exaggerated hangdog expression "Ah well, back to my one-and-a-half apartment with cold and colder running water. Have a nice life, kiddo, I don't suppose we'll meet again…"

Fancy might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but she knew a hint when she heard one. "Why not stay with me? I've got like SO MUCH space it's totally not funny!"

"That's, like, totally a good idea" The Joker said, draping an arm around Fancy's shoulder, and together they exited the restaurant with Mike right behind them. They made their way across town to Fancy's high-rise apartment complex, with the Joker singing along with the car radio the whole way. As they pulled up to the hige building, Mike signaled the limousine driver to stop. When the large black car came to a halt, the cameraman hopped out.

"What are you DOING?" Fancy hissed.

"Going home" Mike replied, his voice brisk and firm "You can endanger yourself all you want miss, but my contract with RealTv only requires me to be here from 8 am til 9 pm period. Anything more than that is at my discretion- and 'til now I didn't mind staying longer, 'cause the pay's good for overtime. But I'm not spending one minute more than I have to with this guy."

"Oh, Mickey how could you?" The Joker cried, putting one hand to his cheek in mock hurt "After all our time together, I'm just this guy to you!"

Ignoring her guest Fancy huffed "Fine. But be here on time tomorrow morning. Come on, Joker, let's go."

As they rode the elevator up, Fancy sulked. How DARE that insignificant pauper deny her her glory?! Now she had to put up with the clown without the compensation of a vast audience. Beside her, and seemingly oblivious to her foul mood, the Joker rocked back and forth on his heels, whistling some old vaudeville song. Eventually, the elevator arrived at the thirty fifth floor penthouse suite. The doors slid open on the massive foyer of Fancy's lavish apartment. She stomped in and hurled a blanket on the cream-white sofa.

"You sleep there. Good night" She said, then turned to leave. But before she could go, she felt a thin hand close tightly on her wrist. For a moment her heart froze in fear, and she whirled around, expecting to see the Joker's famous acid squirting flower aimed at her face. Instead, the clown's smile had softened and he looked deeply into her eyes.

"Francine, I want- I want to thank you for this. Not many people would give this old clown a chance, much less a warm place for the night. You are a wonderful young lady, and I want you to know that I will make it up to you, somehow."

Fancy Carlton was normally the definition of the spoiled brat and normally saw other people only as a means of fulfilling her desires. But something in the Joker's voice triggered unexpected feelings in her- pity, warmth, and compassion.

"Well" she said at last "I guess I just couldn't stand to see you suffer. Anyway, the TV is in the corner- I've got all the channels, so if you can't sleep you won't be bored. Don't worry about the noise, all the rooms are soundproofed. I usually go out for breakfast around 8. Sweet dreams."

"Thank you Francine, sleep well" the Joker said to her back, as she went into her bedroom.

Once inside, she immediately turned on CNN, just in time to hear the anchorman say:

"…does not, at present, have the right to broadcast footage of the Joker and Ms. Carlton. However, by this time tomorrow, RealTV will allow CNN to rebroadcast their footage. More on this story as it develops."

Fancy smiled. Everything was going her way.


	2. Chapter 2

"OKAY COOKIES, GET YOUR TUSHIES OVER HERE TOOT SWEET

"OKAY COOKIES, GET YOUR TUSHIES OVER HERE TOOT SWEET!"

The shrill twang shattered the lazy afternoon peace, echoing sharply off the marble causing a dozen or so women in stolas to flinch, grimacing and squeezing their eyes shut.

"Didn't ya hear me? Meditation time, chickies, right _now_! Move it! Move it! Move it! I don't wanna hear no bellyachin' at dinner about how tense and stressed out ya'll are cos ya didn't do your afternoon navel-gazin'!"

Holly Robinson peeked around one of the Grecian-style columns gracing the circumference of the inner courtyard of the Athenian Women's Shelter, and giggled. The women, who up until that point had been sitting around the garden quietly chatting, reading or enjoying the sunshine, were now blinking dazedly, darting confused looks at each other and tentatively getting to their feet.

At the opposite end of the courtyard, in the doorway that entered into the spacious meditation hall, Harley Quinn stood, hands on her hips and pigtails quivering. There was a determined set to her mouth Holly had come to know all too well and it was with an anticipation of amusement rather than inner peace that Holly skipped across the cobblestones to attend meditation.

The women traipsed into the meditation hall with wide, incredulous eyes, watching as Harley strode to the front of the airy chamber to take a place on the raised platform; the position the meditation leader always took. She assumed the lotus position, an expression of contrived serenity on her cute countenance, brows lifted and chin tilted upwards.

"Why, by all that is holy, is that ditz guiding meditation today?" A girl named Doris hissed in Holly's ear. The sinewy strawberry-blonde shrugged and grinned, and pondered where to sit. Right up the front she could be witness to all of Harley's eccentricity, but further down she could take a peek at her Amazon companions and their reactions as well. She finally selected a place in the middle, letting herself flop down onto the cream-white pallet atop the golden brown rattan mat.

Desdemona and Kassia, the Shelter's Meditation Gurus, were standing at the front of the hall with more than a little trepidation creasing their brows. Before them stood Athena who waited calmly until all the women were assembled, sitting cross-legged on their pallets, before walking in front of the platform and addressing them in her steady, strong voice:

"I'm sure you are all familiar with our resident sister Harleen – " this last said with not the faintest trace of sardony, Holly noticed – anyone in the shelter who didn't already know the kooky clown could only have entered that day. "Harleen has expressed a strong desire to further her spiritual awakening. In consideration of the effort she has been investing to curb and control her frenetic impulses, I elected to grant her request to lead meditation today, adhering to the Athenian Women's Shelter's ethic of guiding and training all beneath our roofs in an holistic fashion. I hope that you will all support and encourage her in her endeavour."

Harley beamed in response and Holly was sure she saw Athena concealing a smirk as she glided to the doors.

"Enjoy your afternoon contemplation, Daughters of the Goddess."

"Okay, eyes up here, brazen babes, because just this afternoon during my tantric massage- "

"_Another_ one?" Someone hissed nearby.

" – I had the most _awesome_ revelation – " Harley babbled excitedly, wiggling about on her pallet. " – and I swear to _God _it was like the Goddess Herself had touched me with Her divine finger of inspiration!"

A woman to Holly's right made a strange snorting sound deep in her throat, but Harley continued, unawares.

"I swear, I felt a tremor run through me, like a jolt of – of – " Harley's eyes widened and she lifted her hands up in the air. " – divine bliss!"

"I bet she did," another woman murmured to her nearest companion and Holly stifled a smile.

"Anyhoo!" Harley enunciated, shaking out her pigtails and beaming at her audience. "As soon as I was touched, I just knew I had to share my revelation with you all!"

"We know how much she loves sharing, eh Holly?" The woman behind Holly whispered.

Harley babbled on: "So I went straight to Athena and told her I'd had an actual real and for true insight into communing with our Supreme Mother and now – here I am!" Harley finished her story triumphantly and flashed her full set of teeth at the assembled women in a beaming smile. "So I guess you're all wondering what exactly it is I discovered that's so awesome, right? Well, I guess most of you know, I've had a little – erm – difficulty with – er – finding my spiritual centre – "

"Not what I've heard," another whisper drifted to Holly's ears.

" – it's just all those chants, they're so long and you know, they're in Greek and the names are kinda weird and well – I just don't _relate_ to them. And the most important thing about keeping faith relevant, is keeping it up with the now, right? Well, then I got to thinking about the Buddhists and how, when they meditate, they just have that one special word they focus on – 'Om', right? I forget what it means exactly, but it really helps them because any time you see one of those guys, they're completely calm and with it, they've really got their Zen on. That's when it hit me! The perfect word – that at once acts as an anchor on which to focus – " Harley was now using her hands, fisting one like a rock and bringing the other down over the top of it. " – as well as invoking the full encapsulating beauty of our Sacred Mother so we have her wisdom and guidance in mind at all times – _and _being completely modern and up to date! Clever, huh?"

No one answered. Unless Holly missed her guess, almost everyone in the hall was either thoroughly confused or suppressing giggles. Perhaps both. Two dozen pairs of eyes blinked at the petite blonde at the front of the Hall, who cleared her throat and settled back, shutting her eyes and inclining her head towards the glass-panelled dome above them.

"Okay, so, just kinda wiggle around and find your most comfy position," Harley instructed them and, amidst glances and shrugs, the women followed. "Close your eyes, keep your neck straight, your spine aligned and your hands relaxed on your knees. Just shake out your shoulders, shake off all the care and worries of the day – " Harley did this, her perky breasts quivering beneath her stola. " – and permit yourself to relax." Harley paused a moment, her expression serene, a little smile lifting her lips. "Remember," she said sweetly. "This is your time. Your special, sacred, alone time with the Goddess." Nearby, another giggle was smothered. "Take a moment to think about what you want to get out of your meditation today, what sort of interaction you'd like to have with the Goddess. You all got that? Okay. Now. Take a big deep breath in through your nose – " Harley drew in a loud, sniffling breath, " – and as you release it out through your mouth, say the special chant with me – "

Harley's were now the only eyes shut in the room. All the other women were wide-eyed and inclined slightly forward, holding their breath as they waited for the dizzy blonde's big revelation.

Harley opened her mouth and in a surprisingly deep and resonating voice, revealed her insight in a solemn and utterly sincere intonation:

"Mooooooom!"

The room erupted in laughter so hard the walls rattled.

**oooo**

"Harleen, while there can be no doubt that you are most definitely sincere in your commitment to the Amazon lifestyle – " Athena blinked her clear amber eyes at the squirming blonde seated in the chair before her desk. " – it must be acknowledged that your approach is somewhat – unorthodox.."

"I am sincere!" Harley interrupted in a fluster, her blue eyes round and earnest. "I really am, I swear! I'm not trying to turn the sacred way of the Goddess into a joke! I never meant for them to laugh, I prom – "

Athena held up her hand for silence and Harley abruptly shut her mouth, a look of distress fixing her little features.

"Please allow me to finish, Harleen. Unorthodox, yes, but not ineffective. Time and again I have said the only way we can truly advance ourselves is through true holistic effort – absolute embodiment. Laughter is the music of the soul, the symphony that transcends base matter. Without the ability to delight in life – to even laugh at it – we are only half-beings."

Athena smiled kindly at Harley, who was chewing her lower lip uncertainly, her brows knotted together. Athena had been roused from private reflection by the deafening chorus of laughter rising from the Meditation Hall and had swiftly left her rooms to discover the place in pandemonium, in the midst of which had sat a very confused Harley who nonetheless had flushed with guilt when she saw the Shelter Mother in the doorway.

Once things had calmed down, Athena had noted the Gotham native agitatedly twisting one ponytail, a downward tilt to her mouth, and had summoned her to her office, a quiet haven of creamy colours and potted ferns, for a discussion.

Harley cleared believed she was to be chastised, and had followed meekly, her head bowed low.

"Harleen, would you like me to read to you some of the comments I have received from the group of women you have been mentoring?"

Harley blushed and squirmed all the more, all too obviously under the impression this was some sort of extended torture before she was told to pack her bags and begone. Her lower lip trembled and her voice, when she spoke, was small:

" – I – I guess."

Keeping her expression neutral, Athena opened her desk drawer and removed Harley's file. Opening it up, she rifled through the pages until she found the notes she was looking for and began to recite in a clear voice:

"I never thought anyone understood what I had been going through until I met Harley. In our conversations together she has helped me realise I'm not alone and that there are many others out there who've had the same experience as me and who won't judge me for it. Harley has not just been a counsellor, but a great friend when I really needed one. She always has a smile for me."

Athena glanced at Harley who was now staring at her in astonishment, her lower lip slightly slack. Athena selected another note and read aloud again:

"When I came to the shelter, I felt so alone and frightened. I never thought I'd have friends again. I didn't think I could trust anyone. When Harley told me she would never be too busy for me, I didn't really believe it. However I have come to learn this is true. She's always there with a smile and a joke. No matter what she can always make me laugh. Her door is always open for me and it has made all the difference. Thanks to her I've been able to make other new friends too and I no longer feel such despair."

Harley's eyes were brimming with tears. Athena selected yet another testimonial and calmly continued:

"Harley never judges my choices. She respects that I'm intelligent enough to make my own. Always in the past, counsellors and friends have made me feel stupid or weak or pathetic for some of the choices I've made. Only Harley has never criticised or condemned me, even if she doesn't agree with me. For the first time I actually feel like I'm respected and not just seen as a dumb victim. It has made me feel stronger and that has helped me make even better choices. Also Harley is so funny – I never laugh so much as when I'm with her."

A tiny, quivering smile had appeared on Harley's mouth, even as silent tears coursed down her cheeks. Athena finally smiled at her again:

"Just one more, I think: when I first came to the shelter, Harley annoyed me by always being so happy and cheerful. I was so sad and full of anger and I couldn't understand how anyone could be so perky all the time. Soon I discovered how kind and sincere she was. After a while, it wasn't so hard to laugh or smile, even if I still hurt inside. I began to enjoy things more – talking to Harley lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. I still have bad days but it feels great to be able to share a joke and have a good laugh."

Athena shut the file and clasped her hands in front of her on the desk, smiling warmly at the emotional girl in front of her.

"You've brought a lot to the shelter, Harleen. Your heart is warm and true and we couldn't ask for anything more than that. You've been very generous with your time and spirit and it has made a difference on more here than you realise. Yes, you may be a little unusual in your ways, but diversity is the spice of life, as they say. We've very grateful to have you here, Harley."

Harley was beaming now, her eyes bright and sparkling, her wiggling body seeming suffused with energy that lit up the room.

"Oh thank you – thank you, Athena!" She squealed as Athena stood up and held out both hands to clasp Harley's own.

But a second later and Athena started as Harley threw herself across the desk and hugged Athena tight, fiercely repeating the words: "Thank you! Thank you!"

Athena laughed a little in surprise then gently patted Harley's shoulder. "You're welcome, dear. Now, aren't you late for one of those tantric massages you love so much?"

Harley released Athena and bashfully wiped at her teary face. "Yes'm. Thanks again. Whee!"

And in a flurry of white skirts and bobbing pigtails, Harley was gone, leaving Athena shaking her head.

**oooo**

Not only was Harley a passionate devotee of the blissful full tantric body massage technique, she was very _vocal_ in her appreciation of it and the rooms of the shelter were filled with amused innuendos about exactly what the energetic girl was getting out of them whenever Harley's eager grunts and cries of: "oh yeah, that's the spot!" echoed through the hallways.

Holly met Harley exiting the massage rooms with a silly smile on her face, eyes lidded and looking as limp as a piece of spaghetti and the former Catwoman couldn't resist the opportunity to rib her friend a little:

"How's your eyesight, Harls?"

Harley started, then poked her tongue out at the strawberry-blonde, falling in beside her as they walked down the hallway towards the communal lounging room.

"Clear enough to see you've been working up a sweat – been poundin' the poles again, Hollers?"

"Hey!" Holly protested playfully, "I'm just keepin' in shape!"

"Suuuure!" Harley rolled her eyes and elbowed Holly gently and the two women laughed together.

"Hoo boy," Harley continued, linking her arms above her head and stretching. "I feel like a hundred-years sleep after that. Worked out _all_ my kinks."

"I'm sure not _all_ of them," Holly grinned slyly. "And don't even think about piking on tonight – that salsa club has forty-two types of tequila and I'm determined to try all of them!"

"We've been out every night this week!" Harley protested feebly. "And tomorrow we have the Festival of Artemis' picnic in Centennial Park and I promised I'd make the kosher grub _and_ the cherry cheese cake!"

"Oh come _on_ Miss Quinn, after coordinating gangs of bumbling henchmen, designing explosive death traps, tangling with the Bat _and_ keeping the Joker fed, dressed and bathed – as well as yourself looking so hot – this pace is a breeze! Besides – new red dress remember?"

Harley perked up at that as they reached the lounging room and headed for the spring water fountain at the back to fill up glasses they collected from a stone table beneath a window.

"True…" She said thoughtfully, her eyes misting over as she recalled the bright red dress with the tight bodice and flared skirt that showed off her legs so well.

Holly saw her weakening and pushed a little further: "And there'll be salsa!" She tantalised and Harley relented.

"Oh, okay! But I'm gonna need some of Athena's rejuvenating ambrosia to perk me up!"

"Well, who ever says no to that?" And the two women clinked their glasses together.

Around them the lounging room was steadily filling as the women came together after the day of study, training and contemplation, ready to wind down or up for the evening ahead. Women settled on the couches and banquettes scattered about the room, chatting amongst each other. The only television in the entire property, a large flatscreen attached to one wall, was switched on, the volume kept low.

"You know, if you _really_ wanted to shake the town up, you _could_ invite that lawyer we met at the organic fruit market the other day – you know, the one who practically fell over himself to give you his _card_?" Holly teased Harley with a smug smile and Harley wrinkled her nose.

"Ya think so?" Harley cocked her head to the side and gave Holly a quirked smile. "Yeah, he was pretty hot for me, wasn't he?"

"He was cute too," Holly pushed and Harley shrugged.

"Yeah, he was okay," she said indifferently. "Kinda short though."

At roughly five foot and eleven inches, Holly thought the fellow had been plenty tall enough, especially next to the petite Harley, but she didn't comment.

"You should phone him, Harls. He looked like the kind who'd love to spoil you. You need a bit of that."

Harley pulled a face and shook her head. "Naaah. The truth is, Holl, I'm just really enjoying being by myself right now," the two women refilled their glasses then began to stroll towards an empty couch near the television. "It's just great to be alone and – and reclaim myself. I'm really enjoying my work here and all the new friends I've made and Athena says I'm doing awesome things. I finally feel like I'm being taken seriously – and for now, that's enough."

"Fancy Living is on!" The two women were interrupted by Doris' announcement, the tall brunette turning up the volume as the computer-generated "diamond" cursive scroll of the reality show's title swept across the screen.

"I _love_ this show!" Harley squealed, immediately tucking her legs up underneath her and wiggling excitedly. "It's like junk food for the brain! And she has so many pretty things!"

"Pity one of them isn't her face!" Holly remarked dryly, propping her chin up on one hand and Harley slapped her lightly on the leg.

"Oh hush, Miss Miaow."

On the screen, the scene had opened on Fancy Carlton's plush sunken living room, the lavish surrounds lit by floor to ceiling windows running the entire length of one wall. The entire room was decorated in a creamy white, apart from startling splashes of hot pink and lime green. It was at once chic and trashy looking and Holly noticed Harley's eyes misting over just a little as they ran over the leather couches, pile carpeting and tacky glass lamps.

Suddenly, Fancy herself strutted onto the screen, in an obscenely short blue satin nightie, shouting into the tiny mobile phone that was pressed up against her ear.

"No! No, Daddy, _you_ don't understand! You can't control me like this! Daddy, you're breaking my heart, how can you say I don't know what I'm doing? I'm twenty years old, Daddy! I'm a grown-up now!"

Fancy had not once acknowledged the camera's presence, but she carefully positioned herself so that she was facing it, the backdrop of the Gotham City skyline out of focus behind her. She sniffled, and lifted a trembling hand to her cheek, her platinum blonde hair in an attractively mussed state around her face as she listened to the person on the other end. Holly could almost swear the tears in her eyes were genuine – almost.

"Daddy, I know what I'm doing! You have to trust me! He's not – no, Daddy, don't say that! He's not like that! It's not like that – you don't know what's going on, he's a perfect gentleman! Yes, a gentleman! You can't control who I spend time with, I'm not a child anymore!"

Suddenly, off-camera, a piercing and melodic whistle rose up, practically drowning out Fancy's whiny voice. Out of the corner of her eye, Holly noticed Harley suddenly sit up straighter, her attention riveted on the screen.

"It's my life, Daddy!" Fancy was screaming now in a full-blown temper tantrum, her piteous pleadings of just a moment ago forgotten. "You don't have any right to tell me what to do!"

All of a sudden, appearing from a doorway that led off the living room in the background, the Joker strode into view.

Holly sat up straighter and blinked, unable to register what she was seeing.

The lounging room of the shelter was filled with the gasps of women certain they were about to see the demise of the unfortunate Fancy Carlton on prime-time television.

The Clown Prince was smiling and doing up the cuffs of his acid-green shirt, his hair a little damp and his feet bare, having clearly just emerged from the shower. Without hesitating he strode across the living room, skipped up the steps that led down to it, came to a stop besides Fancy and neatly snatched the phone from her hands.

"Helllooo there, Daddy Carlton," the Joker chirruped into the phone while Fancy started, her hands flying up to her mouth in shock. "Mister J here, thought I should probably introduce myself seeing as how I'm living with your daughter and all, heh heh!" The Joker dropped the cameras a sleazy wink, openly acknowledging it as Fancy had not. Then he returned his attention to the phone. "Now, pater, I know I've something of a sordid reputation but I want to assure you the sweet spawn of your loins shall not be befouled or disembowelled – not on camera anyway – kidding! Kidding!" Joker dropped an arm around Fancy's shoulders and jerked her hard against him, kneading her arm with his hand and leering directly into the camera. "We're just very, _very_ good friends. Right Francine?"

He swivelled his head and fixed his ghoulish gaze on Fancy. Fancy's gaze darted to Joker's hand. After a second, her face reddening slightly, she nodded.

Holly let out a gusting breath then turned to look at Harley who was sitting there, staring at the screen with an unreadable expression on her face. Her mouth was pressed together, her eyes were wide and her hands were folded in her lap. Her whole body seemed tense as cable wire and Holly was tentative as she spoke her friend's name:

"Harley?"

Harley didn't respond, just continued to watch as the Joker hung up the phone, tossed it into the nearby exotic fish tank, then steered Fancy in the direction of the kitchen, declaring himself hungry enough to eat a whole pussy-cat, the emphasis on the word just vulgar enough.

Harley abruptly stood up, her stola skirts tumbling sharply around her legs, then turned and strode towards the phone that sat on a corner table.

"Connect me to Simon Goldberg, Queensland Park east, please," she said sharply then stood there, hand on her hip, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited.

After a second she stood upright and snapped down the mouthpiece: "Simon? Harley. We met over the cantaloupes. If you got plans tonight, cancel 'em. You and me are goin' on a date!"

--

_Hi all, PrincesseBee here. I dropped the ball on this one – I was very busy and uninspired so sorry it's taken so long. However, I'm really excited to be doing this collaboration with Jarec and I think the story will turn out to be heaps of fun! We'd love to hear your feedback so please do review. Catch ya'll!_


	3. Chapter 3

Fancy woke up feeling very strange. Her head was clear, her eyes were wide open, and she felt curiously hungry. After a moment, she realized that for the first time in ages, she wasn't waking up to a hangover and nor was she sleep deprived. Normally, Fancy spent her nights partying with friends, or dancing 'til dawn at the trendiest clubs - mornings were painful, sickening times she had just learned to endure. Last night, though had been different. Apart from an emotional conversation with Daddy, it had been a quiet night. She'd even gone to sleep fairly early!

As she headed to the shower, she thought about the conversation. She'd seldom seen anyone stand up to her father - Robert Carlton was an extremely powerful and ruthless man, and most people were afraid to cross him. She'd certainly never had anyone stand up to him for her sake! Most of her friends seemed to be around for the good times, but it was kinda funny how they always had other stuff to do when bad things happened. Fancy, not by nature a deep thinker, simply wrote this off as a weird coincidence. It was kinda…nice to know that the Joker was willing to risk Daddy's anger for her.

When she exited the shower she smelled something cooking in the kitchen. Taking a moment to dress - just jeans and a t-shirt, no need to dress up until the cameraman arrived - she left her room and headed to the kitchen. There she found the Joker setting the table, and a plate of eggs and toast waiting for her, along with a pot of coffee and some rolls. He had taken off his suit jacket and orange waistcoat and she was surprised to see how stained and worn his green shirt appeared. At the sound of her entry, the former Clown Prince of Crime looked up.

"Ah, Francine! Good morning! I took the liberty of making breakfast," the Joker said with a typically big smile. "I trust you slept well? Our little talk with Pater didn't disturb your rest I hope?"

"Uh…I slept okay…" Fancy said, a touch confused by all this niceness from the most feared man in Gotham. _'Isn't he like supposed to be some kinda evil psycho or something? Since when do evil psychos, like, make breakfasts?'_ Her thoughts, such as they were, were interrupted by the doorbell. "Oh that'll be the cameraman, uh, Mike!"

When she opened the door she was surprised to see not one but three people on her step. Mike was there, as he was every morning, with a fully loaded camera and an expression of resignation. Behind him were her producer and a huge man she'd never seen before. He was tall, black, bald and enormously muscular. He was wearing a cheap suit and wrap-around sunglasses.

"Morry? Like, what are you doing here? And who is this?" Fancy said, ire tingeing her voice "I'm, like, the STAR of this show! You can't just drop it without telling me!"

"Fancy, baby, I'm here for YOU!" Inwardly, Morry cursed. He hated having to work with spoiled little brats like this, but the public liked Fancy, and this whole Joker thing had sent her already-high ratings into the stratosphere, so he had to play nice. "We brought in Davis here to act as your bodyguard. It's an insurance thing - the network insisted. But don't worry - he's supposed to be one of the very best and very discreet!"

The tall man smiled and extended a hand to Fancy. "Pleased to meet you, miss."

Fancy ignored him. "Morry, I'm FINE! I can handle him!"

At just that moment, the Joker came out of the kitchen "Francine, your meal is getting - OH!" He walked over and took a good long look at Davis. "I know you from somewhere. What's your name?"

"I'm, uh, Davis," the bodyguard said, suddenly extremely nervous. The spindly maniac came closer and looked at him closely. "Uh, listen, I just have one of those…"

"Your name," the Joker said, in tones of finality, "isn't Davis. It's Davey. Davey Rocket."

Now the massive man looked as though he wanted to vanish altogether "I think you might have me, um, confused with, uh, someone else"

"No, no, no," the Joker replied shaking his head, "I never forget a face. You worked for me that time I tried to blow up Knight's Stadium. Got nailed by the Bat, as I recall, and couldn't help me escape that hospital later on. So now the question is: Why did you just lie to me, Davey?"

Now, it has to be said that Jeffrey Davis, also known as Davey Rocket, was not a coward. He'd been a hired goon for a number of years before he went straight. He'd fought the Batman, the cops, and other gangbangers. Then he'd entered the personal security business and had proved himself many times. But the sight of the Joker frowning at him was enough to turn his knees to jelly. He'd seen a lot of tough, dangerous men die screaming because they'd displeased the Joker, and he had no illusions that he would be able to do better. With great effort, he managed to reply: "I'm trying to go straight. Make a clean start."

The Joker continued to stare at him for a little longer, then abruptly turned away. "Fair enough. I'm trying that, myself. Well, come in, breakfast is on the table."

Deeply relieved that the bodyguard was still alive, Morry turned to go. He wanted to move quickly before the bodyguard could remonstrate him for not having informed the agency that the client was living with the Joker. "Well, I can see you kids are going to get along fine. I have to go, Fancy, bye!"

While Davis/Davey glowered at the door and Mike readied his camera for the days shooting, Fancy and the Joker moved to the breakfast table. Fancy picked up a piece of toast and some juice, while the Joker tucked into eggs and bacon, all drizzled in syrup. Eventually, Fancy spoke.

"What's with your clothes, Joker? I mean, why haven't you changed into a clean shirt or something?"

"Well…" the Joker said, with an embarrassed look "The thing is…I don't actually have any other clothes. All my other suits were taken as 'evidence' after my last arrest, and I don't have any money for new ones. I mean, I'm clean now so I can't just knock over a bank or something - I actually need to think about getting a job…" The pale man shuddered visibly at the thought of employment, and returned to his food.

Another silence descended in the wake of the Joker's embarrassing revelation. It was odd to hear someone like the Joker admit to being strapped for cash. It was even odder to think of him working a real job. Fancy, meanwhile, was thinking.

_'If he gets a job, he won't be on my show anymore. I'll lose all those ratings, and go back to being just another rich girl on cable TV,'_ she thought, nibbling at her toast. _'But if I pay his way, he'll be so grateful to me, and I can use that. I can control him, and leverage this into the big leagues. A few weeks and I get rid of him, and the news paints me as the Girl Who Beat the Joker or something!'_ She smiled. It seemed a perfect plan. Now, she just had to pull it off.

"You know, I could buy you some suits," she said, carefully keeping her voice light to give the impression that this was just off the top of her head. "It'd be like a gift. A thank you for dealing with Daddy last night"

The Joker stared at her for a moment, then slowly lowered his head. When he brought it back up, there were tears shimmering in his eyes. "Thank you, Francine. You don't know how much this means to me," he said in a hoarse voice. "You're the first person to give me any real help. I-I'm really trying to go straight this time, but no one seems willing to give this old clown a second chance. All they can do is remember the things I did when I was…sick. They can't accept that I've changed."

It was an emotional moment, and would have melted the hearts of most people who had no first hand experience of the Joker or his evil. Fancy, however, was interested in things only as far as they affected herself. She was unmoved by the Joker's emotional outburst. "Yeah, well," Fancy replied disinterestedly, "it's no biggie. We should leave soon though, if we want to beat the crowds."

The ride to Gotham's fashion district was largely uneventful. In Fancy's experience most ordinary people were excited to ride in a limousine, or were uncomfortable with the idea of a chauffeur, and she was somewhat surprised to find that the Joker seemed to be accustomed to such treatment. Upon reaching the car, he opened up the mini-fridge and poured himself a soda. He spent the rest of the ride talking to, or rather AT, his former henchman. The Joker went over the details of that particular scheme, while Davis simply tried to ignore it. Fancy, on the other hand, found herself fascinated by the story. It was a window into an entirely different world than the one she knew.

"Now, I'll be the first to admit that three bombings might have been a TEENSY bit excessive. Just one probably would have been enough. But I had to do SOMETHING," the Joker said. "After all, the worthless media - no offense Mike - had proclaimed some two-bit mob wannabe Public Enemy Number One. I worked damned hard to earn that honor, and I don't have to tell you how that affected my street cred. I mean, I remember when Eddie- Ed Nygma, that is, the Riddler - when Eddie told me about it. He couldn't stop snickering, damn him. Well, that is until I held a knife to his throat; that sure cleared up his giggles AND reminded him who's the big dog in Gotham."

"So, what, you guys base your status on the Wanted list?" Fancy asked. This was interesting for her, and could be useful in the future.

The clown looked at her blankly for a moment, as though he'd forgotten who she was and why she was there, but then he answered: "Not really. Status among the Rogues is a complex thing, based on how tough you are, how many men you have, and how frightened the city is of you. Oh, and the Bat Factor." When he saw Fancy's blank look, he went on: "The Bat Factor means how much is Batman willing to let drop in order to pursue you. For example, the last time Firefly was out and about, Batman dropped an investigation into a high jacking ring but kept up the heat on a kiddy porn outfit. So, Firefly is a fairly low on the totem pole. When I - or rather, when the old me - went on a rampage, the Bat would drop absolutely everything to come after me."

The lecture was interrupted by the voice of the driver. "Miss Carlton, we have arrived at Herod's Clothiers. However, a large group of … people… are gathered out front, no doubt awaiting your arrival. I believe Mister Grymes is among them."

"Oh, hell," Fancy swore. "Paparazzi. And that Grymes jerk is such a…a…JERK! Always making me out to be nothing but a spoiled airhead! Plus, he like, never leaves me alone! Seriously, he's like a stalker or something! Well, circle the block Jones, and let's try somewhere else"

"Hold it, Jones," the Joker said. "Francine, allow me to disperse these vultures. As a thank you for all of your generosity."

"Um...okay," Francine said. It seemed harmless enough. "I don't know what you think you can do, though. Daddy's best lawyers tried to lean on him, but it didn't work."

The Joker's grin broadened and a dark twinkle came into his eyes. "Oh, I have my methods. Just you wait in the car, dear."

Sam Grymes had been a celebrity photo-hound for thirty years. He'd started off taking pictures of stars like Brando, Connery, and Bruce Lee... class acts who had EARNED their fame. Back then, he'd been a gentleman, taking nice photographs and respecting the personal space of the stars. But over the years, the meaning of celebrity had changed. Now people could be famous just for being rich or beautiful or even just for BEING FAMOUS. They didn't act properly either - they spat on the little people and reveled in excess. So, as their standards of behavior declined, so did his own. Now he surprised them in their worst moments, hid outside their homes, and ambushed them in private. He was proud to say that he'd ruined the career of at least one Hollywood pusbag - snapped a photo of him with a sixteen year old girl. Made him sick, and that bum never worked again.

At the moment, he was focusing on the Carlton brat. She was a shining example of everything that was wrong with the world: ignorant, lazy, stupid and spoiled. In any sane world, she'd be a figure of ridicule, but instead she was held up as some kind of sick role model. He'd made it his mission to drag her through the mud. So it was that he, and a dozen of his colleagues, waited outside the black limousine to get a shot of Fancy Carlton at her worst. The door swung open and Grymes raised his camera... only to drop it in shock when the Joker slowly stepped out of the car. The madman slowly, slowly straightened his angular frame until he was finally standing upright.

The Joker was a past master at the art of making an entrance. He knew exactly how to carry himself in order to generate the maximum amount of fear. He had his hat tilted at just the right angle to leave most of his face visible except for the eyes. He knew that the lemmings were more frightened of him when they couldn't see who he was grinning at. Somehow, it was worse for them when they couldn't be SURE. He leaned forward on his cane, and was pleased to note that even this small motion caused the crowd to visibly flinch away from him. He took a moment to let the image fully brand itself onto their psyches before addressing the crowd.

"Hello, hello!" he said, projecting his voice so that it carried to the very back of the mob "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, gentlemen. Not for myself, you understand, but my young friend Miss Carlton - well, I suspect she's feeling a little shy. Of course, I can't force you to leave - and I'm sure I can find plenty of fun ways to entertain anyone who wants to stay..." The Joker let his voice trail off, leaving the assembled photo hounds with that not-quite-a-threat. As expected, the mass of people began to hurry away. Just before they left the range of his voice, the Joker cleared his throat loudly.

The photographers all froze. Each one was thinking to himself: _'I knew it was too easy'_. But they knew better than to run. It wouldn't help them much, anyway. Instead, as one they turned back to the tall madman.

"Just one last thing," the Joker said. "I believe there's a Mister Grymes present? I'd like to speak to him before you all go. Where is he?"

Grymes had known some of these people for decades. He'd worked with them, drank with them, he'd spent long nights outside of trendy clubs with them. But without so much as a flicker of hesitation, the crowd surrounding him parted and he found four hands pointing at him. He found himself unable to really blame them - it was one thing to die for a friend, quite another to die for a colleague.

"Ah, Mister Grymes," the Joker crooned, walking slowly forward until he was right up close to the small, portly photographer. "So pleased to meet you. Now, Francine tells me that you've been following her around Gotham. Taking unflattering pictures, invading her privacy, and so on. Ah, ah, ah! Don't say a word; I understand. A man has to earn a living. But may I suggest you turn your attentions to someone else? It would make me ever so happy." The murderous mountebank leaned forward until his nose touched Grymes forehead. Grymes could see the madness in the Joker's eyes, and he suddenly would do anything to get out from under that gaze. As though unaware of the man's terror, the Joker continued: "And you DO want to make me happy, don't you Mister Grymes?"

Grymes nodded, not trusting himself. He was sure that if he opened his mouth at all, he would shriek in fear.

"So you'll stay well away from Miss Carlton?"

Another nod.

"Very good! I knew we could work all this out if we just tried!" the Joker exulted. "Now, run along you little scamps! Go find a story worth reporting! Shoo! Shoo!"

With unseemly haste, the crowd of reporters fled. In their haste, some dropped cameras, recorders, wallets and other items but no one seemed eager to go back and retrieve their goods. Despite a late start, Grymes was well ahead of the pack by the time they turned a corner.

The Joker smiled to himself for a moment before wheeling back to the open limousine door. "Madam, the jackals have fled. Allow me to escort you from your chariot."

Fancy allowed him to take her hand and help her from the car. She was stunned. No one - NO ONE - had ever done anything even remotely like this for her. Numb with shock, she led the way into Herod's.

Most Gothamites had never heard of Herod's. It wasn't a big, fancy store nor was it in a particularly upscale part of the fashion district. Indeed, it had no front windows and only a small sign to show where it was. To passers-by, it looked like a small, old school clothing shop, sandwiched between two closed-out storefronts in an old brick building. This was intentional- the truly elite of Gotham were surrounded twenty-four hours a day by reporters, fans, stalkers, bodyguards, and other assorted hangers-on. They cherished the opportunity to shop and socialize in relative privacy. Hence the unassuming front, and the tight security - only those who were invited to shop at Herod's were permitted to enter. Normally, cameras and bodyguards were strictly forbidden. However, Morry had promised to allow the staff of Herod's to edit the footage shot within the store, as well as to cutting out all shots of the exterior.

Upon entering, the Joker was struck by how large the store actually was. He quickly realized that the two empty storefronts to either side of the entrance were false, and that Herod's actually took up the entire building. The vast area of the store was, of course, filled with only premium merchandise: the latest from Paris, London, Milan, and even Gotham were all displayed proudly. Yet the atmosphere of the store was surprisingly relaxed; servers circulated bearing platters of hors d'oeuvres and glasses of champagne, while light music played over the intercom. Here and there, the Joker recognized the ultra-rich and famous as they idly browsed and chatted.

Taking a closer look around, the Joker noted that there were no price tags anywhere - plainly, the people who shopped here were not at all concerned with cost. Still, a high-end criminal quickly learns to appraise things, even fashion, and the Joker guessed that for the cost of the items on display, he could buy his own country.

He noticed that Francine was looking at him, clearly waiting for some sort of reaction. She probably expected him to be awestruck at the sheer of his surroundings. The Joker gave the place another thorough examination before delivering his considered opinion.

"Nice enough, I suppose," he said, making no attempt to quiet his voice, "but not a patch on Kittlemeier's"

Fancy's eyes went wide. She'd seen many reactions from the less-fortunate friends she had occasionally brought to Herod's. Shock, disgust, envy, awe… these were understandable, predictable reactions. After all, there was no other store in Gotham like Herod's. But the Joker looked like he was about to yawn.

A nearby salesman stiffened with injured pride and turned to see which uncultured lout had impugned Herod's. When he saw the Joker grinning at him, daring him to say something, the elderly man paled visibly and rushed to a discreet phone. After much whispering, the salesman hung up and stared nervously at a door in the back of the store. After a moment, four large men in security uniforms quietly came through the door. Sensing something interesting, Mike swung his camera away from Fancy to the newcomers. They moved quietly but briskly, until they saw the Joker - now sitting in a leather chair, munching a stuffed grape leaf. The Clown Prince of Crime gave them a cheery wave. As the security forces went into a huddle with the store manager, the Joker reached for a glass of champagne. This promised to be entertaining.

After much frantic whispering, the store manager stepped out of the huddle and moved nervously over to where Fancy was obliviously examining fine leather handbags. He was nervous about this; Herod's catered to an extremely wealthy clientele, but also a small one. Even in Gotham, there were only so many millionaires around. Fancy Carlton and her friends spent thousands of dollars a week at Herod's, and he was loathe to do anything that might jeopardize that revenue. As he approached, she remained focused on her shopping. When she didn't look up even when he was right beside her, he gave a small cough and said: "Ah, Miss Carlton?'

"Yeah?' the girl said, not even turning to look at him.

"It-It's about your friend. Herod's is rather an EXCLUSIVE clothier and…well, the management was wondering if he wouldn't, perhaps, be more comfortable shopping in a more relaxed environment."

Fancy glanced over to where the Joker sat, idly browsing through a rack of fine Italian suits. "He looks totally relaxed to me," she said, returning to the examination of a new Prada handbag.

The older man stiffened his resolve. "Nevertheless, I feel that it would be best for all if he left. He doesn't really fit with the image that Herod's tries to present to the world. You, of course, are welcome to remain as long as you wish"

NOW she turned to look at him, and her normally beautiful-but-bland face was contorted with fury. How DARE this old peasant tell HER what to do! "I don't think so. If you throw my friend out, not only am I leaving too but I'll tell all my OTHER friends - Paris, Lindsey, and all the rest - how we were treated here. Plus, I'll make sure I do it ON CAMERA! What do you think THAT will do for your image? HEY GUYS! Get over here, we're leaving!"

"NO!" the manager cried, visions of a PR nightmare dancing through his head "I-I'll have a word with the staff. Meanwhile, please, enjoy your time here. BOTH of you!"

With that out of the way, the group moved on to the main purpose of their trip: acquiring a new set of clothes for the Joker. The actual shopping portion of the trip proved to be difficult, at least initially. After searching diligently through the racks of suits, the Joker declared the entire selection to be totally unsuitable. The only suits they had in his size were drab and conservative- and, as the Joker put it, "reformed I may be, but I still have my style". They were about to head out when someone suggested the old tailor Ludenberg - he used to make suits before designer fashions and imports reduced him to making alterations. The elderly man was duly summoned, and eventually made his way to the counter.

He took one look at the Joker's trademark outfit and sighed. "Ah, sir," he said in a thick accent, "you don't know how heppy it makes me to see such a suit beink vorn. Zuch ztyle! Zuch taste! I hev not seen the like since my youth in Austria!"

The Joker grimaced and rolled his eyes in apparent sympathy with the older man. "I know. It's a travesty and nothing else but. Class and originality are relics of the past, or so it sometimes seems. Can you replicate it?"

"Ach, yah," the old man said with a smile. "Ve are being most fortunate. Most stores are not having the designs for such suits anymore. But here at Herod's, ve are never throwink out anytink vich might be of use vun day. Chust vait here, sir, und I vill be right back"

A few moments later the old Austrian returned, bearing several rolled up sheets of yellowed paper. Once unrolled, it was plain that they were designs for suits very much like the Joker's. The mad mime leaned over the table, eager to see the drawings.

"Now," Ludenberg said in a brisk, businesslike tone. "Ve are needing to make some adjustments to the design, to conform to vhat you vant. The shoulders must be broadened, und the tails lengthened. Ze boutonniere holder must be strengthened, zince it vas designed for small flowers only. But, all in all, I think ve can have it done by ze end of ze veek."

Fancy, who wanted to show off a little more, said: "I'll pay double for fast work."

Ludenberg looked at her like she was something he'd scraped off his shoe. "Young lady, it is not a question of money being. This is delicate vork, vith much preparation needed. I cannot be rushing it or it vill be no good."

"Triple," Fancy said without batting an eye. "And I'll do ALL my shopping here for, like, a mont.h"

For a moment, she thought the old Kraut would have a heart attack. His face got all red, and his eyes started bulging. Before he could reply, however, the manager stepped in. "We'll have it ready by tomorrow afternoon, Miss Carlton."

"Excellent," Fancy said. Turning to her little group she smiled at her own bargaining prowess before saying: "Now, who wants lunch?"

The Joker simply threw back his head and laughed.

The Gotham Regency Hotel boasted one of the most expensive restaurants in the entire city. It wasn't trendy, nor was it chic; it didn't need to be. The social, political and financial elite of Gotham ate there, and had been doing so for decades. The room was filled with the quiet elegance that only the very rich and very powerful enjoy. The room itself was a vast circle, with large windows giving a 360-degree view of the city. White tablecloths covered the large tables, which were set with antique silverware. A string quartet played light Vivaldi in the corner, and the waiters hurried about their business in silence. Even Fancy, who normally ignored such things, was always impressed by the place. The tall, elegant headwaiter stood ramrod straight in front of the small desk where he received Gotham's lords and ladies.

"I am very sorry madam," he said with a sniff. "But the Regency Dining Room does not simply allow its guests to walk in off the street improperly dressed and lacking a reservation."

Fancy felt her cheeks heat up as she was snubbed on camera. She really hadn't thought this through too well - she had just wanted to impress her guests with her wealth and power, and had picked the most exclusive restaurant in Gotham. She had forgotten that she was wearing only a crop top and blue jeans, and that the Regency required reservations a week in advance at the very least. She was about to try to play it off as a mistake, no big deal, when the Joker stepped forward. Doffing his hat, he gave the Maitre D a wide grin.

"What's this, what's this?" he said in a loud voice "No admittance? Come now, chumley, surely you can make an exception in this case? We are, after all, not just anyone."

The Joker was slightly impressed by the waiter's reserve. The man didn't flinch an inch, nor did he show any nervousness at all apart from a few beads of sweat on his forehead. "I'm afraid I cannot do that sir. I very much wish that I could, but we are simply full."

"I see," The Joker said with a sigh, and reached one hand into his pocket to grip the large object therein. "Then I shall have to do what I have always done in these situations!"

Before he could withdraw his hand from his pocket, the waiter was in motion. "Ah, it seems I was mistaken. Sirs and madam, if you would be so good as to follow me to your table?"

When they reached the table, right next to the western windows, the waiter hurriedly brought them menus and waited for them to make their selections. The Joker ordered Angels on Horseback, Fancy a large garden salad and - after much cajoling by the Joker - Mike and Davey each ordered a bowl of vegetable soup. To drink, they ordered a bottle of white wine. As the man bustled away, Fancy leaned over the table.

"What would you have done," she asked quietly, "if he hadn't totally caved?"

The Joker looked surprised- almost theatrically so. "Done? Why, Francine, I would have done what I always do in such situations." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small booklet. "Taken my coupon book and gone to Circus Burger."

The others stared at him for a moment, then Davey began to snicker, Fancy snorted, and finally they all broke out laughing. The laughter tapered off as the appetizers began arriving, at which point Fancy excused herself and headed for the washroom. Once there, she pulled out her phone and sent Morry a text message: "how i doin?"

Within a moment, the reply chimed in her phone: "Good but execs want more. Get him to open up a bit."

Returning to the table, she found the Joker tucking into his meal, a plate of cooked oysters wrapped in bacon. Her own salad was filled with a variety of green vegetables, lightly covered in a thick dressing. She sat down and took a bite, savoring the taste of the fresh greens and the tangy zest of the dressing before speaking.

"So, Joker," she said, careful to keep her tone light and curious. "You're, like, so totally famous. But nobody really knows anything about you. Yer, like, an eh-ni-gh-ma, or something."

"No, you're thinking of the Riddler. HAHAHAHAHAAA!" the Clown responded, startling nearby diners with his laughter. More than a few hurried from the restaurant once they saw who was laughing. "Well, Francine, what do you want to know? Wait! Don't tell me! The answer is: Yes, the carpet matches the drapes."

Fancy coughed a bit at that, but shook her head. "No, no. I'd like to know... have you had any, like, girlfriends? I mean, you're a good looking guy, and all smart and stuff, so I gotta wonder, you know?" At this, the Joker put a hand on his heart and bowed from the waist.

"Thank you for humoring this old, broken down clown, Francine. It's always nice to be complimented by a charming young woman." The Joker paused to sip from his wine. "Well, from the start there were the floozies and bimbos. Men in my position always attract a certain class of woman; young, greedy, and willing to do anything - or anyone - for a bit of cash. There were dozens over the years, and to be honest they all sort of blur together in the memory. After all, they weren't IMPORTANT, not really, so who cares? But, I sense that isn't really what you want to hear about?"

Fancy shook her head. "I meant, like, relationships. You know? Women you cared about, or who meant something to you."

The Joker leaned back in his chair and blew out a deep breath. When he resumed speaking, it was as though he were speaking to himself more than to her. "Well, there was that girl in that place... was it another planet? Jewelee, I think her name was. Third string villainess from Miami, she was, way below me on the status scale. But it got cold at night, and she had an interesting costume, so I let her hang off me sometimes. Made all the other guys blind with jealousy, too! HAHAHAHA! Don't really remember what happened to her. Did I kill her, or did someone else?" His voice trailed off and he sipped his wine thoughtfully before resuming.

"Before that, there was Terry - local girl this time, an Assistant District Attorney if you can believe it. Come to think of it, I think she might even have worked under Harvey Dent! HA HA! Ooooh, I've got to remember to ask Two-Face about that next time I see him! Anyway, she was always talking about how great I was, how smart, and how much she adored me - all as it should be. But then she started trying to change me - tried to make me go straight, if you can believe it! As though crazy could just be shut off by a few kisses and hugs! Well, she paid for her folly."

A twinkle danced within the Mad Mountebank's eye. "Ah, and then there was Amber. Dear, dear Amber - truly a woman after my own heart. I've never met anyone, before or since, who I felt so strong a kinship to. Our time together was, sadly, quite brief but I experienced such a feeling of- of CONNECTION that it stays with me to this day. And I like to think that I left my mark on her as well," the Joker paused in his monologue and looked directly at the camera.

"If you're watching this, Amber dear, I hope you don't feel ill-used. I always felt a little bad about turning you out into the street after all that happened between us. I'll always remember you, and who knows? Perhaps one day soon we'll run into one another! I seem to recall you came from New York, and I HAVE been meaning to get out of Gotham for a while. Maybe I'll look you up, and we can relive old times. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Fancy waited for the Joker's rollicking laughter to subside before she pressed on with her inquiries. "But, like, I remember seeing you with some bimbo in a red and black outfit? Had a funny hat?"

For a moment, the Joker just looked blank, then realization struck: "OH! Oh, yes, her. Uh.... what's-her-face....clingy girl with a screechy voice and the brains of a doorknob. Um....Harriet? No. Henrietta? No.... HARLEY!" The Joker thumped the table with his fist, causing the glasses to jump slightly. "Harley Quinn! That was the little airhead's name! Now I remember her! Hoo boy, the worst of the lot, that one! Always trying to be a help in my work, despite the fact that she was woefully incompetent. Couldn't keep her hands off me, even when I was working. Kept trying to get me into bed - and when I got there, she failed me yet again! Of course, I bear some of the blame. I admit I may have lead her on a bit when she was my doctor in Arkham. Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do? I wanted out, and she was the easiest way - and I mean that in every sense of the word! HAHAHAHA! Frankly, if I hadn't done it someone else would have. She might have fallen for ol' Eddie and wound up the newest Query or Quiz. Well, she's gone now and that's what matters."

Fancy was about to continue her questioning when a group of uniformed police officers entered the restaurant. At the head of the group was an elderly man with a thick white mustache, who led his group over to their table. When he reached them, he looked at the Joker with undisguised loathing. "I trust you know why I'm here, Joker?"

The Clown popped another oyster into his mouth and swallowed before answering. "Can't say as I do, Gordo. Why don't you enlighten me?"

Gordon grimaced at the Joker's friendly tones. This animal had stolen so much from him over the years, and now he sat here, spewing his noxious stories across the airwaves, while eating a meal that cost more than Gordon's weekly paycheck. He wanted nothing more than to empty his service revolver into the monster's grinning face, but he forced himself to be calm. "The management is complaining that you used threats to gain entry to the restaurant, and that you have been frightening their other customers. I think you should leave."

"Threats? Moi?" the Joker said in tones of exaggerated innocence. "Gordy, I'm hurt. I've done nothing untoward since my release from Arkham! Check the video down at the TV station, you'll see. As for frightening anyone, I'm just _taking my lady out_ for some fun. You know how it is. OOOPS!" The Clown clapped a hand over his mouth in false shock. "How very tactless of me. What I meant to say is, you remember what it's like to _sweep a young girl off her feet_. Oh dear! I seem to be hitting all the wrong notes, don't I?"

Gordon felt his blood pressure spike at the oblique references to his late wife (killed by the Joker) and to his daughter (crippled by the Joker) yet he forced himself to speak calmly: "Nevertheless, they would prefer that you leave."

With a sigh, the Joker slowly stood up. "Very well, Commissioner. We'll be on our way. Give my love to Barbara! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!"

With that, the Joker, Fancy and their small entourage made their exit from the restaurant.


	4. Chapter 4

Holly Robinson was Impressed.

As one who had worn the garb of the Catwoman, Holly was not easily impressed. She'd lived a rough life, been trained by the best, and had had a fairly remarkable series of adventures. As free-spirited and easy-going as she was, her experience had made her cynical to human nature and blasé in the face of wealth.

But this Simon Goldberg – this hot-shot young Jewish lawyer from Metropolis – was impressing her.

After their first date had been a success, though Harley had been reticent with the details, the daffy blonde had had an attack of anxiety and pleaded with her friend to join her on a double-date.

Holly, who had been enjoying a casual affair with another of the Shelter's residents, had figured that if Harley really needed her to sign off this guy, they might as well throw him in the deep end straight away, and asked Shellee to join them.

Simon Goldberg, a fellow just an inch or two short of six feet, with olive-toned skin, strong features and golden-brown hair atop which an immaculate yarmulke was pinned, had shaken both their hands, his dancing brown eyes directly meeting theirs and said that any friend of Harley's was a friend of his.

Then he'd clapped his hands together and said all the other men in town were sure to be jealous of him accompanied by three such beautiful women. So to drive the point home, Holly had entwined her fingers with Shellee's and given her lover a lingering little kiss, up near her ear.

A moment later, his tanned skin had flushed an embarrassed brick red and he'd apologised respectfully for any offence he'd caused.

Okay, so that was one tick.

The second had come when, instead of the ridiculously small and over-powered sports car Holly had been expecting from a Queensland Park lawyer, Simon had shouted them all a ride through Centennial Park on horse-drawn carriage, tactfully securing Holly and her date a separate carriage.

Holly and Shellee had reclined back on the cushioned seats and watched the violet sky slowly fade to deep blue as the fairy lights lacing the trees of the park winked in the evening. Holly could hear Harley giggling away in the carriage in front of them and had smiled.

Their destination had been Astral, and Holly had balked slightly. One of Metropolis' most esteemed restaurants, it was the proud bearer of three Michelin stars and had been named for the plane through which the city's resident hero regularly traversed. It was well out of Holly's budget and she'd expected nothing more nor less than pretentious posers milling about simply to be seen while snooty waiters peered down their noses at you, all within a contrived and forcibly chic setting.

And after all, Harley was much more a burger and fries kinda girl.

She was surprised, therefore, when Harley's eyes had lit up as they'd drawn up to the pointed skyscraper the restaurant was located within and smoothed a hand self-consciously down the front of her red sateen dress with its sweetheart neckline and knee-length, puffed skirt.

"Gee, sure am glad I dolled up for this – didn't realise we'd be going to such a swank joint!" her friend had exclaimed and Simon had smiled and wrapped his arm around hers.

"It's actually far more casual than people expect," he'd said reassuringly. "The focus is on the food, not the façade."

And Holly's eyes had widened slightly. A little witty alliteration and Simon was proving he was not all tie-pins and sock garters. But then he'd driven it home:

"And the way you look, they'll be falling over themselves to let you in."

Nice. Not too over the top as to be unbelievable, not too fawning as to be off-putting. Harley giggled and whacked him gently on the arm. Holly and Shellee exchanged discreet looks and smiled.

The restaurant was splendid inside, occupying one entire floor of the skyscraper and walled in glass, allowing spectacular vistas of Metropolis by night.

Harley, in her typically effusive way, openly gaped, blue eyes round as she beheld the landscape of twinkling lights, uttering an audible "wow!" The waiter had smiled gently.

While Harley was distracted admiring the view, Holly saw Simon palm the waiter a bill and they were duly led to one of the tables on the raised platform in the centre of the restaurant, permitting them an unobstructed view out the windows on all sides. Harley had giggled a little as Simon took over the waiter's job of pushing her seat in and Holly had winked at Shellee and done same for her.

Harley leaned over the table towards Holly, her round eyes bright: "Ain't this somethin', Holls?"

"It's pretty special, Harls," Holly had admitted as the waiter enquired as to whether they would like aperitifs. A touch of confusion had flickered over Harley's expression before Simon gracefully led the way.

"I think a celebratory cocktail is in order, don't you, ladies?"

Ladies. Not girls. Ladies. Another tick for Simon.

Harley had wiggled her shoulders about so that her red and gold sequinned bolero shimmered beneath the muted candlelight. "Oooh, that's just the ticket! I'll have a Mimosa, civil play!" she chirruped to the waiter who blinked.

"Of course, Miss. However, I'm afraid that's not on our menu. Perhaps you would care to instruct our bar tender on how you prefer yours prepared?"

Holly grimaced. Waiter talk for _'I have no idea what you sort of peasant grog you're talking about and you better tell me so I can pass it on.'_

"Of course!" Harley beamed up at the waiter in her usual unrestrained way. "One quarter fresh squeezed OJ and three quarters of champagne. Belle Epoque vintage, if ya got it! That's ok, isn't it Si?" she nudged her date who smiled warmly at her and nodded.

The waiter blinked again and spoke carefully. "Miss, you would like us to mix vintage Belle Epoque with orange juice?"

Now it was Harley's turn to blink. "Yeah?" she replied innocently.

Holly had to give the man credit. He made no other reaction except for a third blink.

"Are you sure?" he questioned and Harley's expression fell, a questioning uncertainty lighting in her eyes.

Simon suddenly spoke up. "Gee, Harley, that sounds like a great idea. Make that two, please, Waiter."

"Three!" Shellee spoke up, chin in her hands and grinning up at the waiter teasingly.

"Four!" Holly glanced over at Simon and smiled at him. He wasn't a bad sort at all.

"Yay," Harley clapped her hands together and wiggled again as the waiter sped away to get their drinks. Not even her up-do could make her look like anything less than a little girl awaiting Christmas Day. "I love Mimosas! They're all class, huh! What are we going to drink to, huh?"

Simon had eyes only for Harley as their water returned, four slender champagne flutes filled to the brim with the pale orange drink. He twined his fingers with Harley's and held aloft his glass.

"How about to new friendships?" he suggested and Harley blushed.

"A brilliant suggestion, Simon," Holly grinned widely at her friend and over the flower arrangement, the four of them chinked glasses.

Astral was spectacular in more ways than one. The food was absolutely deserving of its three stars but was not the eccentrically complicated fare Holly had expected, instead being simple with the focus on the freshest and most high quality ingredients in stunning combinations. Despite its grand setting and sophisticated décor, the restaurant somehow achieved an atmosphere of comfort and relaxation, the wait-staff attentive when called for and otherwise unobtrusive. No one looked funny at Holly and Shellee, even when Shellee bent her head to Holly's shoulder and Simon confirmed he was orthodox in deed as well as apparel when he ordered vegetarian. Harley looked slightly guilty at this but he encouraged her to order as she pleased.

All in all, Holly enjoyed herself far more than she had expected to, and felt a warm sense of satisfaction to watch her friend giggle and flush more with every glass of wine she finished, kidding playfully with her date and openly admiring each newly noted aspect of the posh restaurant, from the food, to the custom-made crockery, to the piano player who took requests and only smiled in amusement when Harley requested _Wuthering Heights, _to which Harley hummed under her breath and squirmed on her seat in excitement.

Simon was a really nice guy and Holly was happy for her friend. He was well-off, a junior partner in a successful firm, modest, generous, kind and friendly.

There was only one thing wrong with him.

The guy was _boring_. Really, seriously, mind-numbingly boring. He seemed content to sit back and let the three women talk amongst themselves while he nodded along; when probed to talk about himself elucidated only in plain facts and trailed off. He had nothing really to contribute, didn't seem to have an opinion on politics, music or art and visited his parents devoutly every weekend. He worked hard and had no hobbies to speak of apart from furnishing his newly purchased apartment, a subject which elicited the only real spark of enthusiasm Holly had seen in him all night and was unfortunately yawningly dull for everyone else. That is, the only enthusiasm she'd seen him show for anything other than Harley.

Simon, Holly could see, _really_ liked Harley. A whole lot. He watched her in fascination, as though he could scarcely believe such a lively, pretty, charming creature was sitting beside him. As was her wont, Harley dominated the conversation with a stream of cheery chatter and eccentric observations that unintentionally had Holly and Shellee in stitches. Simon merely gazed at her with dreamy eyes.

After all, Holly had mused to herself as she'd sipped her wine and watch Harley sputter with laughter as she'd playfully poked a breadstick in Simon's nose, who smiled with gentle good humour, maybe a nice, decent, boring guy is exactly what Harley needs these days. Someone who'll just adore her and shut up – let her shine for a change.

Simon had insisted on covering the bill, so Holly and Shellee banded together and demanded they be allowed to take the sheltered young lawyer out to a "real dive" and the three drunken females had gigglingly dragged the meekly protesting fellow through the streets, high heels clattering on the sidewalk. The Metropolis evening was balmy and the streets were scattered with smiling people enjoying their Saturday nights out.

"You lived in Metropolis all your life, Simon?" Shellee queried, as they passed a brass statue of Superman in a Park Ridge square.

"All my life," Simon affirmed and then added: "And yes, I have met Superman!"

"Really?" Shellee was impressed; she did not share Harley and Holly's more colourful past. "How did that happen?"

"It was at the Mayor's inauguration," Simon's chest had puffed up with the memory. "One of my clients was an organiser of the celebrations and they arranged for me to attend the garden after party. Superman dropped by to congratulate the Mayor. I got to shake his hand."

There was a small pause and then Harley spoke: "Really?"

It was clear to Holly she was trying to sound impressed and she cringed a little, hoping the naïve Simon would not notice. But Shellee was suitably awed and fired a few more questions Simon's way before Harley suddenly let out a gasp and came to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk, the toes of her bright red stiletto heels turned inwards.

"_Karaoke!_" she screeched, pointing, and they all turned to see.

Sure enough, on the next corner, a bar with a big red flashing sign above it declared its capacity for people to drunkenly sing along to pre-recorded music.

Harley jumped up and down on the sidewalk, her high heels clacking against the cement. "We gotta go to Karaoke guys, we just gotta!"

"Karaoke?" Simon blanched, looking nervous for the first time that night. "I – I don't know about that, I've never down it before."

Harley gasped in shock and staggered, one hand clutching her chest. "_What_?" she cried. "You ain't never done Karaoke before? Don't you wanna _live_?"

She grabbed Simon by the arm and started dragging him down the street as Holly and Shellee followed, arms linked and shaking their heads as Simon shut his eyes and gave in to the inevitable.

The Karaoke bar was a lively, friendly place filled with university students ordering jugs of beer and belting out tunes in horrendously off-key voices. Simon glanced about him with a bemused expression as Harley beheld the small raised stage with absolute delight, immediately going into raptures over the crystal curtains that bordered it and the mirror balls that clustered on the ceiling. The stage floor was tiled in thick clear plastic bricks, each one bearing within it a different coloured light globe that flashed and when Harley saw it she grabbed Holly's arm violently and shrieked:

"That's what I want in my house! Remember that, Holls, when I get one! I gotta get one of those floors!"

"I'm going to the bar," Holly laughed as she glanced at Simon who was blinking in bewilderment at his rowdy surroundings. "Mimosa?"

Harley cocked her finger at Holly. "Mimosaaaaa!" she confirmed and then she was hustling Simon over to a newly-vacated table.

Harley sang along to every song from their table, bouncing about in her chair and hooting and hollering at the top of her voice for every singer. Simon seemed to find a comfort zone in keeping his attention fixed on Harley and sipping his wine-spritzer. This suited Holly and Shellee just fine as they were steadily becoming more interested in each other. Shellee was clearly growing restless and although Holly was feeling antsy herself, she did feel somewhat obliged to keep an eye on her tipsy friend. Finally, the people at the table next to theirs, who had been watching and laughing at the enthusiastic blonde, urged her to take the next spot.

"Oh no, I couldn't!" Harley became suddenly shy, covering her mouth with her hands and huddling down in her seat.

"Come on, Harley!" Shellee encouraged and the people surrounding them all cheered her on.

"Oh gosh, I can't believe I'm doing this!" Harley squeaked, her face flushed as she got out of her seat and crept up to the stage. "Don't you take photos, Holly!" she pointed an accusing finger at her friend who'd tried to discreetly take her phone from her purse. "I do _not_ want these on the Shelter's internal mail system, okay!"

Even as Harley took her place in front of the microphone, giggling hysterically as the crowd cheered her on, the music started up and Harley's eyes bulged and she screamed as she realised what it was.

"No way!" she cried, laughing and clutching her tummy, but then the monitor cued her up to begin in three, two, one and…

"The minute you walked in the joint," Harley bellowed as Holly wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. "I could tell you were a man of distinction, a real big spender!"

The crowd cheered and hooted her and Harley slowly began to relax, beginning to swing her hips about as she continued, off-key.

"Good lookin', so refined! Say wouldn'tcha like to know what's goin' on in my mind!" Harley shrugged one shoulder and winked to the audience, eliciting another peal of laughter, before she grasped the microphone and began to strut across the stage.

"So lemme get right to the point – " on the two exclamationary beats, Harley turned her back to the audience and flicked her bottom from side to side. "I don't pop my cork for every guy I seeeeeee!" On 'pop' Harley jumped into the air, the word coming out as a squeak and Holly gasped with laughter, her sides beginning to hurt. "Hey big spender! Speeeeeeend a little time with – meeeeeeee!" Harley pointed out into the audience, directly at Simon and when Holly glanced at him he was beaming in delight, watching Harley's performance with awe.

"Wouldn'tcha like to have fun! Fun! Fun!" Harley kicked her legs out on each 'fun', vamping towards the edge of the stage to bend over towards the audience and shake her shoulders. "Howzabout a few – laughs! Laughs! I can show ya – a good time!" Harley dipped into a crouch before springing up. "Lemme show ya a – auuuuggghhh!" Unfortunately landing back on her high heels caused Harley's feet to slip, toppling her straight forward into the first row.

"Harley!" Simon exclaimed, as Holly and Shellee grabbed each other for support, so helpless where they with laughter. He immediately sprang from his chair towards the mess of legs and red skirts that was his date, struggling to get up from her spot across the front row's laps. Her catchers were laughing as the dizzy dame managed to slide back onto her feet, her up-do tousled around her face and her dress in disarray. As Simon held out a solicitous hand to assist her, she grasped it hard, pushed herself back onto the stage and belted out the last few lyrics: "Speeeennnndddd a little ti-umime – with meeEEEEEEEEE!" The audience rose to a standing ovation as she finished, one arm raised high above her, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open. Simon stood back and finally started to laugh, clapping along.

Later, Simon had wanted to buy Harley a cut rose from the woman who came around to the tables selling them, but Harley had insisted on one of the fake ones with the flashing bulb inside, lighting up the plastic petals. "It'll last longer!" Harley explained to him, then oohed and ahhed over it, and brandished it for Shellee and Holly to admire while Simon gazed dazedly at his date.

"I've never met anyone like you before," he slurred.

Before Harley could respond, the Karaoke system was switched off and the bar manager made an announcement over the system:

"For all of you itching for an update on billionaire heiress Fancy Carlton's exploits with notorious supervillain, the Joker, we're about to switch the news on now!"

Holly choked on her beer and glanced nervously at Harley who was pulling a face of disgust.

"Like I wanna hear about _that_," she snorted in derision and Simon nodded gravely.

"I really hate reality TV," he agreed seriously. "Especially anything that involves such shameless glorification of criminals like that terrible man."

Holly blinked at the first firm opinion Simon had had all night, then glanced at Harley who had crossed her arms over her pert bosom, her flashing rose still clutched in one hand, and was pouting furiously at the television monitors placed around the bar as they flickered to life.

The channels were flipped through until one playing the news was found and the bar hushed as the newsreader announced they had clips from that day's showing of _Fancy Living_.

Holly felt, rather than saw, Harley's body tense as the newsreader narrated short clips from the episode showed the Joker, cool, calm and collected, in a fancy clothing store, speaking charmingly on the phone and intimidating his way into a posh restaurant, with Fancy in tow. Harley's brow darkened at that part and Holly heard her mutter beneath her breath:

"_Still_ using that old gag. Yeesh."

"But perhaps the most revealing moment of the Joker's day out came when he and Ms Carlton sat down to lunch," the newsreader continued in that smug, almost-laughing voice all entertainment newsreaders seemed to have. The screen switched to a shot of Fancy and Joker, seated at a table in the Gotham Regency Hotel's signature restaurant, the gold and white room bright beneath the skylight above it.

Fancy was shaking her head, speaking in her Valley-girl way: "I meant, like, relationships. You know? Women you cared about, or who meant something to you."

The Joker then leant back in his chair, exuding his unmistakable air of confidence and assurance. Holly had to hand it to the guy, he sure knew how to carry himself; every movement was eye-catching and he seemed utterly fearless.

"Well, there was that girl in that place... was it another planet? Jewelee, I think her name was. Third string villainess from Miami, she was, way below me on the status scale. But it got cold at night, and she had an interesting costume, so I let her hang off me sometimes. Made all the other guys blind with jealousy, too! HAHAHAHA! Don't really remember what happened to her. Did I kill her, or did someone else?"

Holly darted a glance at Harley at this callous revelation and felt somewhat perturbed to find her friend watching the screen with a quiet expression, tuning the plastic stem of her novelty rose back and forth between the fingers of one hand. Holly continued to watch Harley edgily as the Joker rambled through a list of women utterly unfamiliar to the former villainess, cackling with laughter and then coming to a halt, resuming his meal as nonchalant as can be.

Fancy had a slightly confused expression on her otherwise glazed face, and continued on, her tan seeming orange in the natural daylight the Regency Restaurant was washed in.

"But, like, I remember seeing you with some bimbo in a red and black outfit? Had a funny hat?"

For a moment the Joker merely blinked at his companion as though in confusion, then a flood of realisation swept over his face.

"OH! Oh, yes, her. Uh... what's-her-face... clingy girl with a screechy voice and the brains of a doorknob. Um... Harriet? No. Henrietta? No... HARLEY!" When the Joker slammed his fist on the table, Holly jumped slightly and worried her lower lip with her teeth. Beside her, Harley was still. "Harley Quinn! That was the little airhead's name! Now I remember her! Hoo boy, the worst of the lot, that one! Always trying to be a help in my work, despite the fact that she was woefully incompetent. Couldn't keep her hands off me, even when I was working. Kept trying to get me into bed – and when I got there, she failed me yet again! Of course, I bear some of the blame. I admit I may have lead her on a bit when she was my doctor in Arkham. Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do? I wanted out, and she was the easiest way - and I mean that in every sense of the word! HAHAHAHA! Frankly, if I hadn't done it someone else would have. She might have fallen for ol' Eddie and wound up the newest Query or Quiz. Well, she's gone now and that's what matters."

The clip ended and returned to the newsreader who beamed at the camera and bid them all good night, promising them further updates on _Fancy Living_ as they came in.

Holly licked her lips as around them the revellers turned back to each other and resumed their partying, the bar once again filling with a cacophony of noise, and turned around in her chair to suggest they go to the powder room so that she could provide whatever support her friend needed.

Harley's face was a study in still calm as she reached across the table, picked up her nearly-full mimosa and drained it in one gulp. Then she turned to Simon, slid an arm around his shoulder and grabbed his tie with her other hand, yanking him in close to her face.

"Your place, or mine?" she purred.


	5. Chapter 5

Wayne Manor. Before the earthquake that nearly obliterated Gotham, it was renowned as a stately manor- a palace for Gotham's crown prince, Bruce Wayne. There he held court in countless balls, soirees, dinner parties and celebrations. Its Classic American design made it an open and friendly place for the rich to come together for a good cause. Now, it is less a palace than a fortress- thick walls, small windows, concealed entrances, and minimalist architecture. Few people are willing to say anything, since Wayne designed it himself, but the general opinion is the place just isn't the same. On February 10th, however, the gloom and dark within the manor are dispelled by light and laughter as Bruce Wayne hosts the annual Wayne Foundation Winter Ball.

On this year, the guests were pleased to see that Bruce had come to the party stag. While it was normal for powerful men to have amusing affairs with beautiful women, it was generally agreed that Brucie took it too far. The endless parade of bimbos was starting to get a little embarrassing, and it was so nice of Brucie taking a night off from his wild lifestyle, especially for such a good cause. By seven PM, the party was in full swing, and Bruce was proving to be a charming and capable host.

Bruce Wayne stood by the fireplace, smiling a deliberately vapid smile at his guests as they made light conversation. Anyone who looked at him would see a billionaire enjoying a celebration in his home. Behind the mask, however, Batman carefully scanned the crowd. It had been years since a major society affair had gone off without some interruption, and he was on high alert. Before the party, he'd checked on the status of each and every Rogue in Gotham. Twoface, Riddler, Scarecrow and the Joker were out of Arkham. Worse, the Riddler, the Joker and the Scarecrow were out legally, having exploited the state's overly rigid criteria for sanity to be declared 'sane'. Thus, they were beyond his reach- for now- while Twoface was simply lying low for now. The Joker, of course, was on that damned reality show- Batman had spent hours going over every second of footage, trying to get some idea of what his archenemy was up to. So far, he'd come up dry but the moment this party was over he'd be right back down in the cave again.

Despite these threats, the party had to go forward. The Wayne Foundation relied on the money the ball brought it, and he would not ruin that. So, he'd tripled security at the Manor for tonight. In addition to the professional security hired for the ball, he had Robin and Nightwing up on the roof, watching for trouble. He had Batgirl, Huntress and Azrael waiting on stand-by in case back up was needed. Finally, he was constantly moving through the room- ostensibly to socialize but in reality to watch for trouble. All in all, he had prepared well- and naturally, he was ready for the unexpected. Or so he thought.

The first hint he had that something was wrong was a faint vibration coming from his right cufflink. That was a signal from Alfred informing him of trouble. He politely detached himself from the crowd and ambled towards the door where his oldest friend was acting as doorman. He expected something minor- a drunken guest, or paparazzi- after all he'd had no word from any of the Batclan that a Rogue had been spotted in the area. The second he saw the purple coat his guest carried, Batman resolved to double his 'sons' training time.

"Alfred? Is there some trouble?" Bruce said as he came closer, careful to maintain the affable and somewhat clueless tone of Bruce Wayne the billionaire playboy, and not the hard tone of Batman. To his surprise, the Joker was unarmed and alone, apart from a bottle blonde in a too-short dress that left nothing to the imagination and a man holding a television camera. He wasn't laughing, nor was he exhibiting his usual manic energy. He wasn't even wearing his trademark purple suit; instead he wore a black suit with a green string-tie. But his attention was fixed on Bruce now.

"Oh, hiya Mister Wayne" the blonde said. Once he heard her voice, he recognized her- it was that idiotic girl the Joker was using- Fancy Carlton. "I got an invite to this little shebang of yours, but Jeeves here won't let my 'plus one' in! Can ya help me out?"

"Of course, miss Carlton" Bruce said smoothly, as he suppressed his anger at the insult to his oldest friend. "Alfred, take our guests coats. Afterward, meet me in the hallway for a private word, would you?"

"Ha! NOW you're gonna get it, Jeevesy!" Fancy said, sticking her tongue out at the elderly butler as she handed him her coat. The Joker merely smiled as he handed his coat to the butler, and took Fancy out onto the main floor. The cameraman followed, but not before murmuring a quick apology to the Englishman. Alfred followed Bruce into the hall with an air of wounded indignation.

"Sir" he began "If you expect me to apologize for not allowing that monster or his…his 'date' into this house…"

"I want to apologize to you, old friend" Batman responded, his voice low. "I don't like having the Joker here anymore than you do. It makes me sick to think of that madman making himself at home in my Father's house. But it's necessary that I keep the Joker under tight observation until I know what he's up to. Also, I want to apologize for how you were treated, and to ask you to ignore any other slights you might be subjected to tonight"

Alfred gave his employer a long, searching look. Finally he nodded. "I suppose this is at least as hard on you as it is on me, sir. Very well, I shall do my best to ensure that tonight proceeds without a hitch. I expect this to be remembered when next we discuss my wages."

Bruce Wayne's face remained impassive, but Batman's eyes held a glimmer of amusement. "We'll see, Alfred. Now, excuse me- Bruce Wayne has to go check on his newest guests.

They weren't hard to find- a wide circle of empty space surrounded the trio, as the other guests kept far away from the Clown Prince of Crime. Fancy chattered idly to the camera, taking care to appear as though she were completely unaware of the massive public snub by the city's elite. The Joker, meanwhile, munched hors d'oeuvres and basked in the fear of Gotham's wealthiest and most powerful citizens. Bruce strolled up, his gait slow but stiff- it was obvious to everyone that the playboy was nervous.

"Sorry about the trouble at the door" he said, plucking a thin slice of Edom cheese from a platter and popping it into his mouth. After swallowing, he continued "Alfred was just concerned about bringing a cameraman to the party. You know how some people are about cameras. So, Fancy, I think this is your first time at the Wayne Winter Ball?"

Fancy nodded, drinking in the sight of Gotham's most famous playboy. It was true, Brucey did cut a fine figure in that suit- plus he had more money than God!- and she made a mental note to look him up once the whole thing with the Joker played out. "Yuh-huh. These balls are usually, like, SO boring! But I, like, wanted to show the folks at home what it's like, y'know? You don't mind do ya, Brucey?"

Bruce smiled and replied "No of course not. After all, the Wayne Foundation was set up for all of Gotham City."

"What's wrong, Bruce?" The Joker chimed in. "No hellos for me? After all it's not as though we've never met before, is it?"

Bruce stiffened, and Fancy could tell the rich boy was scared stiff by the Joker. Still, she had to give him credit, he didn't show it much- he just turned (giving her a VERY nice view of the South side of that suit) and nodded.

"True. I believe you were here- what? Two years ago? As I recall, you smashed down my door, and brought six or seven friends with you. All carrying machine guns and hand grenades."

The grinning ghoul just laughed and waved that away. "Oh, that. I've always felt that it's rude to arrive at a friend's house without bringing a gift. A little something to liven up the evening."

Bruce nodded stiffly, and went on. "And the thousands of dollars in jewelry you took with you?"

"Party favors! Can't have a real party without good party favors, can you Bruce? They're almost as important as the gifts!" The Joker laughed, digging an elbow into his host's side in a perverse mockery of friendship. "Oh, and speaking of gifts..."

The Joker reached deep into his suit pocket, eliciting several gasps and one scream from the other guests. Everyone in Gotham knew the rule: When the costumed criminal reaches into his pocket- RUN. However, before anyone could make a break for the exit, the Joker withdrew his hand, holding a small toy canary. With great solemnity, he handed it to Bruce.  
"This is for you, Mein Host" he said "Just a little token of my esteem. I thought it was suitable- everyone knows Bruce Wayne has a thing for cute, young birds! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!"

Bruce Wayne smiled politely, but inside Batman's mind was racing. The gift COULD be taken as a joke on Bruce's playboy reputation- a tasteless gag designed to embarrass a powerful man. That would certainly appeal to the Joker's anarchic nature. It could even be a slur about Bruce's tendency to adopt orphans- Dick Grayson, Jason Todd and now Tim Drake. But on the other hand, it could also be a not-so veiled reference to Robin- to Batman's sidekick.

It all came down to that one question- the question Batman had been asking himself for years. Did the Joker know his secret? On the one hand, certainly the clown had had enough clues. He'd killed a Robin in Ethiopia, and the very next day it's announced that young Jason Todd's body is being brought home to Gotham by his adoptive father Bruce Wayne- and that Jason had died in Ethiopia. Then there was the actual killing itself- who knew what poor Jason had called out during his long, painful murder? Finally, and most haunting of all, there had been that moment at the UN. The Joker came face to face with Bruce Wayne, had stopped to stare for almost a full minute before bursting out laughing...

On the other hand, the Joker was insane. He was irrational and chaotic, with a memory that seemed to be unreliable. It was entirely possible that the clown was simply unable to make the logical connections necessary to deduce the secret of Batman's identity. Certainly if he'd known, then the Joker would have used that knowledge by now, wouldn't he? A strike on Wayne Manor, kidnapping one of Bruce Wayne's friends, even just taunting his archfoe with his knowledge… there would have been something, surely. It was a maddening question that Batman had never been able to resolve to his satisfaction.

As Bruce stared at the little bird, the Joker moved back towards the refreshment platter, noting with amusement the way the crowd rippled as people moved away from him. It was always nice to see recognition for one's work, a little reminder that it was all worth it. Fancy, however was less pleased- the whole point of this trip had been to show her audience that she was more than just a rich girl spending daddy's money. She wanted to show that she was part of Gotham's elite, the cream of the city. Instead, she was being shown as an outsider among the truly rich- shunned because of her date. She wondered if this whole Joker thing was really worth it.

On the one hand, her public image was better than ever before. Fancy Living had rocketed to the top of the ratings charts, with millions of people all around the world tuning in every night. News channels gave their viewers hourly updates on the situation, while the various talking heads dissected every second of footage. Some hailed her as a heroine, risking life and limb in order to bring the world understanding about the Joker, while others derided her as a fool who let her lust for fame take her into the clown's clutches. It didn't really matter; so long as they were talking about her, that was enough.

On the other hand, her social life was suffering terribly. None of her friends would return her calls- Lindsay, Enrique, Leo, even Britney were all so scared of the Joker that they wouldn't go near her. Her Daddy had stopped taking her calls- saying he'd speak to her once 'this madness passes'. And to top it all off, she was now being embarrassed on national TV. Was it really worth it?

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "It hurts, doesn't it?" The Joker said, quietly. Sensing action, Mike brought the camera in closer to pick up whatever the clown said. Obliviously, the Joker went on "The snubs? The whispered comments when they think you can't hear? The way they turn aside when you look at them? I'm afraid these people will never accept me- some people just don't know how to take a joke."

"What do you mean, take a joke?" Fancy said, eager to take attention away from how humiliated she felt.

"Oh, you know" The Joker said, deftly plucking a canape from a tray " just my usual pranks and antics. See that old timer with the walrus moustache glaring at me? That's Horace Neuhaus, owner of the First Gotham Trust Bank- I shot up the main branch a few years ago. I mean, what's he so mad about? I barely killed anyone, and besides I saved him a fortune in wages! HAhAhAHAHAHAHAHAA!"  
Fancy smiled, a little uncomfortable with this reminder of just who she was talking to. The Joker took this as encouragement, and pointed out another guest who immediately flinched away from the grinning ghoul's finger.

"That right there is Miss Penelope Dryler- a former guest as my Ha-Hacienda. I entertained her for a few days before Batman arrived to escort her home. Well I SAY arrived, actually he smashed through my skylight, beat up my associates and broke my jaw. Oh, and behind her is young Theodore Lenski- I once robbed his house, but in my defense I DID leave an IOU for everything I took...'

"Oh, who cares what some old farts say?" Fancy said dismissively, determined to put on a brave face for the cameras. "Who cares what they think? They can't even throw a good party!"

"Now THAT'S the spirit!" The Joker crowed. "What do these bloodless old fools know about fun, right Francine? " The clown paused, and raised one finger. "Hang on a minute, Francine, your old friend the Joker just had a brilliant idea. What say we go to a place that's ALWAYS fun? A place where I can guarantee a warm welcome and good company?"

Fancy nodded slowly, and a little suspiciously. "Sounds good. Where did you have in mind?"

"Where else?" replied the Joker "The Iceberg! To the car!"

AS they left, the guests relaxed, and began to discuss the event just passed. Bruce Wayne was nowhere to be found. Anyone who asked after him was informed by his butler that the playboy had been quite terrified by the Joker, and had retired to his bed to recuperate.

* * *

Despite being known as a party girl, and a staple of Gotham's vast nightclub and party scene, Fancy had never actually been to the (in)famous Iceberg Lounge- nor had any of her friends. It was one of Gotham's most exclusive nightclubs, catering to the wealthy and the powerful- it was rumored that Lex Luthor spent at least one evening there every time he was in Gotham- as well as to less affluent patrons. Yet celebrities never ventured within, because there is a big difference between merely rich and being rich and famous. Not everyone could recognize Warren Buffett or Bill Gates, but everyone could spot Paris Hilton or George Clooney, including the Rogues. Since no one wanted to present the super-criminals of Gotham with so tempting a target, the famous faces of Gotham stayed away.

So it was that when Fancy stepped into the club, she found herself gaping like a tourist. The tables were made of glass, while the chairs were made to resemble ice sculptures. In the center of the room was a large pool, filled with some kind of big spotted seals, surrounding a fake iceberg on which the band played. Suspended from the ceiling was a huge chandelier, made to look like it was made of icicles and snowflakes. Everywhere were waitresses, dressed in leotards styled after tuxedos or waiters wearing the real thing. She realize

The Joker, of course, took it all in stride. He nodded to the greeter (a young woman he addressed as Raven), and strode in without waiting for a table- he knew that Penguin always kept a few tables empty for the Rogues, and even if he didn't someone would offer to leave. They always did, for him.

They hadn't gone more than a few dozen feet into the club when Fancy noticed a small, fat little man in a tuxedo and top hat waddling towards them, umbrella in hand. When he reached them, the man took a moment to adjust his monocle before bowing to them.

"Ah, Joker" he said, and Fancy was surprised to note that there wasn't a trace of fear or nervousness in the little man's voice. "So good to see you once again in my humble establishment. May I ask after the identity of your lovely young guest?"

The Joker laughed and shook his head. "You don't watch much TV do you, Oswald? This is Fancy Carlton, the young lady who's been good enough to put me up for a while, just until I get back on my feet. Behind her is Michael, our cameraman." Turning towards the camera, the Joker gestured towards the diminutive man "And THIS, ladles and gentle mints, is Oswald Cobblepot- one time villain, and now a respected member of Gotham Society. He also owns the finest nightclub in all of Gotham City, don't you Ozzy?"

Oswald managed to emerge from his shock- he HATED being out of the loop, and clearly he'd been missing something massive- long enough to pick up the obvious cue. "Well, I hesitate to say we are the best...but I would be hard pressed to name a finer place in this great city. Joker, may I have a word with you in private?"

"Certainly, Oswald" The Joker said magnanimously "Francine, why don't you find us a nice table? I will be with you in a moment"

Fancy scowled as the two older men left her behind. How DARE he just tell her to get him a table- what was she, the hired help? Clearly, he'd started taking her for granted and that just wouldn't do. Still, she was careful not to show her anger in public, instead looking for a free table. Unable to find one, she walked over to a table which held only one occupant- a gaunt man with thinning hair who sat nursing a drink while he did a crossword puzzle. Leaning over, she used her most sexual voice to ask "Like, is this seat taken?"

"Riddle me this" the man said without looking up "How are you like a water buffalo? Answer: You both breathe loudly, both have a strong musk and neither one is welcome at this table"

"WHAT!" Fancy shrieked. "Who the HELL do you think you are?!"

The man looked up at her, and something in his eyes made Fancy flinch. They were hard and cold, and announced that in a world of predators and prey, here was one man who definitely did not order the salad. "The REAL question is" he said "Who do YOU think I am?"

"Now now, Eddie" the Joker said as he strode over "Play nice with my friends, or I won't play nice with yours. Neither of us want that, now do we?"

The man- Eddie- turned his gaze to the Joker. "Joker" he said in a measured tone "Who is this and why is she trying to take my table?"

"This is Francine" The Joker said, putting an arm around her shoulders "She's my new...friend"

"I see. She looks different on TV" Eddie replied, closing his puzzle book. "What happened to your old significant pause friend?"

"Oh, who knows?" the Joker answered with a dismissive shrug, drawing Fancy in closer. "I've traded up!"

"Hmmm." Eddie said, sipping his drink. "Well, I'm at this table and I'm expecting someone to come shortly. I have some business to take care of and I'd rather it weren't televised. I'm out of Arkham legally, and I'd rather it stayed that way."

"Of course" the Joker said with a mock-bow "We'll just mosey along. Come along, Francine, Mike, I found us a table that will soon be vacant."

He lead them to a small table in the far corner of the room, which was currently occupied by three large men. Two were fairly average looking, while the third was horribly disfigured- half his face was a sea of scars and burns. Fancy didn't keep up with the news, but even she knew enough to recognize Harvey Dent, alias Twoface. Wasting no time, the Joker strode boldly up to the table and waved at the disfigured attorney.

"HARVEY!" He said, his voice warm and friendly "How are you doing, old son? I heard you were out of Arkham, but I didn't believe it. 'After all' I told myself 'the coin came up Good Heads, so he couldn't get himself declared sane', yet here you are! How on earth did you get out?"

Twoface glared up at the grinning ghoul, the unscarred side of his face revealing nothing but contempt. Without looking away, he reached into the pocket of his jacket (half gray knit, half orange with black stripes) and dug out a shiny silver dollar. Tossing it into the air, he caught it neatly in one hand and glanced at it. Then he sighed, took a long sip of his cocktail and growled "Well..."

"Speak up, speak up!" The Joker exhorted, positively squirming with excitement "All our viewers out in TV land want to know!"

"Viewers? Tvland?" Twoface repeated. Looking behind the clown, he noticed the large camera pointed directly at him- broadcasting his current whereabouts to the world. With a curse he jumped out of his seat and sprinted for the Iceberg's back exit, his hired muscle hot on his heels, desperate to escape before the police- or worse yet, the Batman- capitalized on this information. Just as he reached the exit, the enraged Twoface spun around and shook a scarred fist at the Joker. "WE'LL GET YOU FOR THIS CLOWN!"

In response, the Joker waved back "TWO-dle Oo, Harv! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!"

Sitting down at the table, the Joker noticed that his companion seemed somewhat peeved at him. "Say, Mike" he said, never taking his eyes off Fancy's face "Why don't you go find Ozzy, and ask him to take our viewers on a little tour of the Iceberg? I think Francine and I need a moment alone"

Mike, who had been watching Fancy getting angrier and angrier, didn't need to be told twice. He headed off at an almost unseemly pace, eager to put as much distance between himself and the furious heiress as was humanly possible.

When he was gone, the Joker's face underwent a dramatic change. His smile vanished, and his eyes grew concerned. "Francine" he said, taking one of her hands in his "I know what you're going to say and you're right- I was wrong to send you away like that. But I had to make sure that no one among the Rogues thought to use you against me. I...I made a lot of enemies in my old life, and if they knew how important you... I mean, if they THOUGHT you were important to me, you might be in danger."

Fancy was a bit put off by the Joker's unintentional admission. Also, she found herself drawn to his eyes- they were so deep, so mysterious, she almost felt herself getting lost in them. 'He really is kinda good-looking for an old guy' she thought, before realizing that the Joker still held her hand. She was amazed to feel herself blushing at that, something she hadn't done in years.

"It's okay" she said "Just, like, don't let it happen again, okay? I totally don't like being treated like a maid. Remember all I've done for you"

"Thank you, Francine" the Joker said, giving her a soft smile "I promise it won't happen again"

Having finished his grand tour of the club, Mike returned to find Fancy and the Joker looking deep into one another's eyes. He coughed gently, and the girl started visibly and pulled her hand away. The Joker simply resumed his normal, trademark grin and signaled for the waitress. Before she could arrive, however, the club greeter arrived at the table carrying a large bottle.

"Mister Cobblepot asks you to accept this gift" she said, seemingly unfazed by the Joker's grin "and says that everything you order tonight will be on the house."

The Joker craned to look across the club at Cobblepot, who sat at his usual table in the center of the club. Noticing the clown's gaze, the short businessman solemnly raised a champagne glass in salute. The Joker nodded and took the bottle from Raven's hand. He held it up to the light, allowing the light from the huge chandelier filter through the rich red wine and casting a light purple shadow on the table cloth.

"Hmm… Nappa Valley…1997…Yes, Oswald knows his wines. Thank you, my dear, and please pass along my sincere thanks to our host."

Dinner was television gold- a sumptuous meal, kept entertaining by the Joker's anecdotes about the Rogue's gallery. He never touched on any illegal activity past or present, instead focusing on gossip and amusing stories. He told them of the Riddler's well-deserved reputation as a Lady's Man, and how he would often use his wit and charm to recruit both henchwenches and bedmates- often in the same person! He related the story of Twoface's big entrance into the Gotham underworld, of how the former District Attorney had earned the respect of the Rogues through persistence, cunning and sheer ruthlessness. He spoke of a long-ago partnership with Oswald Cobblepot, back when the shorter man had been the Penguin, and how close they had come to defeating Batman and Robin.

But most entertaining were the more unusual stories, such as the Rogues last Christmas party- which had lasted until three AM and had ended with all those involved being arrested for disturbing the peace by belting out Christmas carols at the top of their lungs. Apparently, in an attempt to apologize for past misdeeds, Twoface had led the assembled maniacs and criminals in an impromptu parade down Gotham's famous Kane Street, howling such 'classics' as "Victor the Iceman", "Joker Bell Rock", "We Wish you a Bloody Christmas". The story's highpoint came when the Joker, caught up in the memory, stood on his chair to sing part of the final carol: "...And the Jo-o-ker got a-waaaay!", which brought applause from the entire club.

That one had caused Fancy and Davey Rocket to laugh, but better yet was when the Joker told them of the time thieves had actually attempted to rob the Iceberg during Happy Hour. The six thugs, presumably new to Gotham, had burst into the room armed with shotguns and automatic rifles, yelling for everyone to get onto the floor. Instead, a brisk discussion had erupted among the Rogues over who should be the one to educate the newcomers. After a heated debate (and several injuries) Killer Croc and Bane had stepped forward to escort the now-terrified gunsels into the backroom for a short lecture on life in Gotham City. The Joker hammed up the story, pantomiming the thieves reactions as they went from confidence to doubt to realization to sheer terror.

Delightful as the evening was, all good things must come to an end. Eventually, at ten o'clock, Mike signalled that he would soon be going off the clock, which meant it was time to be heading back to the apartment. They paid their tab (and judging by the staff's reaction, Fancy guessed that the Joker rarely paid), bade Ozzy a good night, and headed for home.

* * *

During the ride, Fancy eyed the Joker speculatively. For the first time she considered him not as a ratings booster but as a man. He was tall, mysterious and undeniably charming, possessed of a dignity and wit that was uncommon in her social circle. What little she'd seen of his physique hinted at an older man who was extremely fit, if rather skinny. Fancy hadn't had sex in a long time, at least by her standards, and she was starting to feel the need for some 'company'.

On a whim, Fancy ran a hand up the Joker's arm, ostensibly to brush away a piece of lint on his collar and letting it linger there afterward. Oh yes, there was muscle there- wiry, but firm. The Joker glanced down at her, apparently puzzled by this, and Fancy answered his gaze with a quick wink.

After Mike left, Fancy found herself alone in the apartment with the Joker and Davey. The latter was seated on one of her kitchen chairs, munching on a bowl of mixed nuts, while the former examined the new suits that Herod's had delivered while they were out. Fancy, after some consideration, decided that she didn't feel like being alone again tonight- and besides, she felt that the Joker wasn't quite under her control yet. In her experience, few things brought men to heel better than a roll in the hay, plus it'd give her a chance to scratch her own itch. She walked over and put her hands around the Joker's narrow chest. She was amazed at how warm he was- even through his acid green, dress shirt, she Standing on tip-toe and craning her neck up, she just managed to get her mouth level with his ear.

"You know" she purred, taking care to blow in his ear slightly as she spoke "I had a really good time tonight. It seems a total shame to stop things now. Why don't we go to my room and, like, see what happens, hmmmm?"

To her surprise the Joker wriggled out of her arms, and took her hands in his. Drawing her close, the Clown Prince of Crime looked down on her with a warm look on his face. Once again, Fancy found herself drawn to those deep, almost hypnotic, eyes. "Dear Francine" he said, idly stroking the inside of her right palm "I won't lie to you. I feel something for you...something I must confess, I have never felt before for anyone. I think we might have a real connection between us, a deep linkage which only one couple in a thousand enjoys. I want to cherish this, to nurture it. So, I pray you understand when I say- not yet. I'm not ready."

With that, he brought her left hand up to his face and gently kissed the back of her hand.

Fancy was frankly speechless. No man before had ever treated her with this much respect, this much dignity. Most either wanted her body or her money, and were seldom very subtle about either one. As a result, she really didn't know how to respond to someone who behaved like a gentleman. Moreover, her hand tingled very slightly where the Joker's lips had touched. "Um...okay" she said, and cursed herself for sounding so dazed "Well, what now?"

"Now" the Joker said gently, tilting her head up to gaze into his eyes, "I think it would be bet if we went to bed- it has, after all, been a long evening"

Fancy nodded, and left the room in something of a daze. As she entered her bedroom, she discarded her formal evening dress, and hunted around in her closet for her old pajamas. Normally, Fancy wore a negligee or just her birthday suit to bed, but tonight she felt like a little comfort was needed. She hadn't really grown much since her teen years, so she was able to fit into her old PJs with minimal fuss. She was just about to get into bed, when she heard the patio door slide open. Then there was the sound of a struggle, followed by a loud crash. She burst out of her bedroom, and was shocked to see the Batman in her living room.

He was big, that was her first impression- much broader and more muscular than she would expected from Gotham's shadowy vigilante. His suit was dark, almost as black as the night outside, except for his yellow belt. He was tall, too, only three inches or so shorter than the Joker- who he currently held against the wall with a massive gloved hand around the clown's skinny throat. In the far corner of the room, Davey Rocket lay in a heap, clearly unconscious.

"I won't ask again, Joker" the Dark Knight growled, and his voice was like the wrath of God "What are you up to?"

"Batsy, I told you" the Joker said with a broad grin "There's nothing going on but one old clown trying to go straight! Just ask the good folks at Arkham- they'll tell you I'm sane!"

The Batman snarled and slowly drew back one massive fist. "I warned you, Joker..."

Without thinking, Fancy sprinted the five feet from her door to the vigilante and grabbed hold of his fist before it could launch itself at the Joker. She felt herself being lifted a few inches off the ground, as Batman brought her closer to him. He looked at her with an unreadable expression. "What are you doing, Miss Carlton?"

"Like, I won't let you hurt him!" Fancy yelled in her best Daddy-I'm-A-Big-Girl tone. "He, like, hasn't done anything wrong! You've got no right to attack him!"

"Nothing wrong?" Batman repeated tonelessly "He's a mass-murdering psychopath. He's killed thousands of innocent people"

"He got declared sane, didn't he?" she demanded, letting go now that it seemed Batman wasn't going to pummel the defenseless Joker. "Doesn't that mean he isn't responsible for what he did before?"

"Irrelevant" Batman responded, turning to glare once again at the Joker, who merely smiled. "He's a cunning monster, and has feigned sanity before."

"He's not the one who broke into my apartment. He's not the one who attacked my bodyguard. He's not the one who I caught about to beat up an unarmed guest in my house" Fancy retorted "Seems to me YOU'RE the crazy one here. Now get out before I call the cops"

Batman glared at her, and although Fancy shrank from his gaze she did not back down. Finally, Batman released his hold on the Joker. Turning away from the girl, he glared at his archnemesis once again. "I'm watching you, Joker, and sooner or later you'll tip your hand. Then I'll have you"

Without another word, the Caped Crusader turned and walked towards the open patio door. He paused along the way to administer smelling salts to Davey, who soon came around, before disappearing into the night.

As the bodyguard shakily walked towards the duo, Fancy ran her hands over the Joker's body. "Are you okay?" she asked "Did he hurt you? DAVEY! Like, why didn't you stop that caped creep?!"

Before the massive bodyguard could reply, the Joker cleared his throat. "Davey did everything he could, Francine, truly. He tried to defend me from the Bat-Brute, only to be tossed aside for his troubles. Thank you, Davis- I won't forget that."

Stunned, the black man nodded "No big deal. Listen, I'm gonna get an icepack okay?"

"Sure" Fancy replied, as her heart slowed to its regular pace. "I think I'll give bed another try, if it's okay with you guys"

"We'll be fine, Francine" the Joker said as he began to straighten the room "Sleep well"

A/N

Howdy, all. Sorry this took so long- I'm in my Masters Program and am being bombarded with work. I'm really excited about this story, not just because it has a lot if potential but because it's a pleasure to work with an author like Princessebee.

I think this story will be a good one, and quite unlike any other. I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

I'd like to take this opportunity to address the issue of Harley's academic career. This is something that's been bothering me for a long time now, but I've never addressed it because it'd take too long. However, since this chapter is over 6000 words long, I doubt a few hundred more will kill you.

Writers- and not just fanfiction writers, either- often dismiss Harley's degree because it has been implied that she earned some grades on her back. Many have taken this to mean that she slept with many- if not most- of her professors, and thus she isn't a real doctor. This just adds to her bubbleheaded blonde image. I disagree with this for a couple of reasons.

First, there's the very nature of her degree. Harley was introduced as Doctor Quinzell- as in PhD. That's at least eight to ten years of university (at least where I'm from). Each year consists of four semesters, with each semester usually having six or seven classes- each with a different professor (usually). That's AT LEAST thirty-two different professors for her BA alone. Even a dedicated nymphomaniac would have trouble with that. Now add in another four to six years and you begin to see the problem. Plus, if she's a psychiatrist (as opposed to a psychologist- the comics aren't clear to my knowledge) she'd have to take medschool classes too, which means even MORE professors, and in some countries an internship where they're looking for people who've coasted through exams.

Second, the very nature of the academic environment means that very few professors accept the risk involved in an affair with a student. Not only are they open to blackmail by the student, but the penalties are downright draconian. Plus, the atmosphere in the halls of academia is like a sharktank- every one's always checking everyone else for weaknesses. So, most professors would turn down the offer or pretend it didn't happen- only a few stupid or confident ones would accept, and even then it's dangerous.

Finally, during her time at Arkham, Doctor Quinzell interacted with the staff for a long time. A staff that is not only mainly composed of fellow psychologists, but who are probably trained to watch one another (in case of mind control, blackmail, impostors or what have you). They'd know if someone lacked the knowledge their credentials demanded. If Harley were really incompetent, she would never have been allowed anywhere NEAR the Rogues, let alone the Joker.

Some may argue that Harley doesn't display the knowledge of a real doctor. I'd like to remind these people of one thing: Harley is insane. I think she suffers from what's called Regression- she's mentally stuck in a child's mindset, which naturally means that she isn't really able to bring her knowledge to bear. That's why she acts like a bubblehead- she's stuck at a mental age of twelve.

What I think happened (based on DC's innuendo) was that Harley did what most such students do- she watched her professors carefully, looking for signs that they might be receptive to an offer. Then, if she needed a little 'boost' to pass, she'd make her move. If anything, this strategy ADDS to her credentials as a psychologist- it requires minute observation and a solid understanding of manipulation. I'm not sure why people knock her achievements like this- frankly, I think it makes her a better villain and a better match for the Joker.

I'll get off my soapbox now...whoa! (slips on soapbox, breaks ankle)

...medic...morphine...


	6. Chapter 6

"Hi Red, hi!" Harley's high-pitched voice shrilled down the phone line and Poison Ivy recoiled, holding the receiver away from her ear.

"Harley?" Her voice revealed a curious mix of emotions: surprise, irritation (her ear drums were throbbing) and warmth. Ivy checked herself and cooled her tone. "I'm surprised to hear from you. I assumed it was a condition for your release." She sounded appropriately indifferent and for a moment there was an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry I ain't been in touch lately," Harley sounded contrite and abashed. "There's been, um, a lot goin' on. I moved to Metropolis and holed up at the Athenian Women's Shelter and have been findin' myself. I've thought about you lots though," Harley finished beseechingly.

Poison Ivy sat in the small armoured room of Arkham Asylum, bare except for the bolted down chair and the phone screwed into the wall, her legs crossed neatly, her back straight and her expression still and perfect. In the stark white room, in dull prison greys, she resembled nothing so much as an exquisite flower, made all the more striking by the ugliness of her surrounds.

Two guards in biohazard suits stood at the sealed door, guns trained on her.

"Nothing to be sorry about, dear," Ivy said carelessly. "I hadn't really noticed. There's been so many important things holding my attention here."

There was another small silence. "Aw, Red," Harley said miserably.

Ivy tossed shining red hair over her shoulder and held up a pale-green hand to inspect her nails. "Well, Harley, the guards are beginning to look a little twitchy," she winked an emerald green eye at one of them, whose hand tightened reflexively on his weapon. "So why don't you tell me why you've called."

Poison Ivy had been startled to be called from her afternoon recreation time in the common room for a phonecall. She had only recently been given back her recreational privileges for good behaviour, induced by ill health at having been kept from sun light and fresh air for so long. But the list of people who'd telephone her was a short one, beginning with H and ending with Y and having only four letters in between.

Still, it had been months since Harley's legal release from Arkham and Ivy had reasoned she'd "moved on". She'd felt mild indignant at that conclusion, which had irritated her all the more and she'd put good effort into Not Thinking About Harley Quinn. The silly little clown had always been a goof-up anyway. Ivy had always managed far better on her own.

Harley's voice was a hurt squeak when she spoke: "I called because I missed ya. I've missed you all this time but it's been real bad lately. Ain't no one I could talk to who understands me the way you do."

Ivy rolled her eyes. She knew Harley was delusional, but it still surprised her just how much. Ivy had always found it next to impossible to understand the first thing about her friend, the first thing being her particular fixation on a certain psychotic clown…

And then Ivy knew why Harley had phoned.

"Okay, kid, out with it," Ivy said impatiently. "In exactly ten minutes I have gardening therapy. One whole hour of it. I'm not giving that up for anyone. You've no idea what I've been through in this barren place lately."

"What they done to you, Ivy?" Harley's voice was suddenly sharp, bristling with a protective edge and Ivy felt mildly gratified. "They been keepin' you holed up inside again? The rotten jerks!"

"Then don't keep me from it," Ivy said briskly. "Just get your rant about the Joker over and done with so we can all move on."

Harley inhaled sharply and Ivy folded her free arm across her chest, her rosebud mouth twisting in a vindicated smirk. How fortunate for Ivy that she had no real attachment to humans, disloyal, thoughtless, fleshly things that they were, or otherwise she might've felt truly hurt.

"Red, don't be like that!" Harley pleaded. "That's not the whole reason I'm callin', it really isn't. It's just always so hard whenever I'm out. I don't want to mess it up yet somehow I always do. I just really wanted to try this time. That's why I ain't been in touch, but you're still my best friend, really."

Ivy sighed and pushed a hand up through her hair. "As you say, Harley," she said flatly. She eyed the two guards coldly, resenting the lack of privacy. Once, inmates had been allowed to have private phone conversations with screened callers. But then the Joker had used the telephone cord to strangle a guard. They'd switched the phone to cordless, but then the Joker had used the handset to bash another guard's brains out. So now the guards stayed present, with their guns at the ready. Simply musing on how far the psychotic clown's influence reached blackened Ivy's humour further and the guards shifted nervously beneath her glower.

"Didja hear me say I'm workin' at the Athenian Women's Shelter now?" Harley was continuing in a delicate voice. "I thought you might be happy to hear it. Athena says I'm being a real help with some of the women and their troubles. Makin' a difference."

"Mmm," Ivy kept her voice non-committal.

"Don't you think that's somethin'?" Harley prompted, unable to keep the hope from her voice. Approval, all she ever wanted. Like a puppy. Ivy's lip curled. "Some of these girls have had real troubles with men. I know you hate that sort of thing – "

"Harley, do you really expect me to care about the plight of a group of miserable meatbags?" Ivy snapped. "Humans, really Harley! Male or female, they're all the same; rapists of the Earth. Frankly, I'm all in favour of letting them wipe each other out."

Harley sniffled down the line and Ivy lifted a hand to her forehead, kneading her temples. The whimpering noise arrested her temper and she resented that sorely.

"Well, okay then," Harley continued dejectedly. "I understand you feeling that way. It's still real nice here. Holly and me, we – "

"Holly?" Ivy snapped to attention at the unfamiliar name. "Who's Holly?"

There was another silence before Harley responded nervously: "Uh… Holly… she's a girl I met here at the Shelter. We've palled up, kinda." Ivy's nostrils flared. "Sorta," Harley continued. Ivy's grip on the receiver tightened. "…Maybe," Harley finished lamely. "Just, like, hang-out friends, you know. But I can't talk to her the way I can to you!" Ivy seethed silently. Harley ploughed on: "I mean, she's nice and all, but who could ever compare to you?" The forced chirpiness in her voice set Ivy's teeth on edge. "Plus she's pretty busy a lot of the time with her girlfriend," Harley supplied meaningfully, "and now I'm seeing Simon, I'm kinda busy too…"

Ivy had lost track of the number of times she'd been shocked by their conversation. "Wait, Simon? Seeing Simon?"

"Heh, yeah," Harley said with contrived lightness. "He's my, uh, my new boyfriend."

Ivy could only listen in stunned silence. Over the years she had come to grudgingly accept that Harley's infatuation with the Joker could never truly be overcome, that the crazed clown was on her friend's mind at every moment of every day and her happiness oriented around him. That didn't stop Ivy from making the most of their time together, and pushing Harley in directions she felt Harley should be pushed in. Harley needed guidance and Ivy knew what was best for her and was careful to make sure Harley complied by her wishes.

But it was the three of them. As needy as Harley was, she was picky about who she needed and Ivy knew that, next to the Joker, Harley needed only her. If she could have her way, she'd make things different but she'd closed off that option for herself when she'd chosen to immunise Harley. Sometimes she regretted it, but at least Ivy knew the score.

Until now.

"_You have a new boyfriend_?" Ivy's voice barely rose, but her tone was terrifying. The hard plastic of the handset squeaked beneath her grip and she leant forward in her chair, clenching her free hand, teeth bared. The guards immediately lifted their guns.

"Well, sure I do, Pammie," Harley quailed.

"What kind of imbecile are you?" Ivy demanded furiously of her friend. "Why is it the simplest of learning skills are beyond your comprehension? Humans are worthless, but men, men especially - _Harley_! Now you've taken up with another one - an _average_ one - one who directly and ruthlessly partakes in the mass environmental genocide humanity enacts upon the world. You don't seriously think you can trust him, do you? How could you forget what they're like? All of them - ruthless, heartless, traitorous beasts who see women as nothing more than receptacles for all their ugly lusts and anger. How could you, Harley? How could you do this to _me_?" Ivy broke off, breathing heavily, barely aware of what she had just revealed. She clutched the handset in both hands, pushing forward on the balls of her feet, her body twisted like a gnarled tree.

"_Please_, Pammie!" Harley entreated her desperately. "Don't be like that! He's different! He really is. He's not like the others."

Ivy made a furious snort and slumped back into her chair as Harley continued.

"You gotta understand - I – I have a new life now. He's a real swell guy too, junior partner in law, Jewish, real cute though a bit short, and you'll love this," Harley's desperate timbre indicated she knew Ivy was _not_ loving this. "He completely worships the ground I tread on. I mean, seriously, I don't gotta lift a finger, he runs circles around me. Takes me out to fancy clubs and buys me nice presents and lets me do just about anything a gal could want. And we've barely hit the sixth date! Heh."

Ivy sat up straight again at that. "How long have you been seeing him?" she demanded.

"Oh," Harley became suddenly vague. "Just a week or so. Little longer maybe."

Ivy lifted a red brow, her beautiful face cool and imperious once more, counting back in her head. "So just after the Joker hit prime time television?" she queried directly.

Harley hesitated. "Uhhhhyeah," she said slowly. "I guess so."

Ivy felt relieved. So it was all about the Joker in the end anyway. That still rankled her sorely, but at least she knew this Simon-thing wasn't a real threat.

"Tell me all about this charming fellow," she purred, honey in her voice.

"Oh – okay," the sudden relief in Harley's voice was pitiful. "Well, as I said, he's really keen on me and just is the sweetest guy you could ever imagine. Our first date, he took me on a horse and carriage through the Park, and just yesterday he helped me make cherry cheesecake from scratch. He's got ringside tickets for the wrestlin'! He's always bringin' me flowers too. Oh, oh _and_ he's hirin' a karaoke machine for our first cocktail party we're hostin' at his digs, and there's more - "

"So let me get this straight, Harl," Ivy interrupted smoothly. "You're living in golden Metropolis, working at a shelter for wayward women, helping them find themselves while cooking and engaging in other domestic activities, dating a well-off, generous Jewish lawyer who takes you to the park and plans cocktail parties where you can socialise with people of similar social standing?"

"Yeah!" Harley squeaked. "Doesn't it sound great?"

"It sounds hideous," Ivy said bluntly. "It sounds boring, common and depressingly average."

Harley was silent, this time for a long moment. Ivy waited patiently.

"Yeah, it is," Harley finally admitted. She said nothing else.

Ivy had always found Harley's singular lack of direction to be vexing. Ivy had become a Rogue for a Higher Purpose, a vision that drove her forward no matter the obstacles, an idealism that flowed through her very veins. Harley, for all her charm, seemed to have no objective in her life of crime - whether with the Joker or her. It had driven her to distraction but she'd always retained hope Harley would eventually come around. That Harley could squander her talents and throw over any sense of purpose and aspiration to idle in mediocrity with some common, grotesque, mindless _man_ was almost more than she could bear.

"Oh well," Ivy said breezily, "I suppose that's what a _normal life_ entails," the inflection was disdainful. "You've achieved what most of us aren't able to, Harley."

The remark was cruelly double-edged and when Harley next spoke the sheer defeat in her voice made Ivy squirm, just a little.

"Thanks, Ivy."

Ivy's heart thumped. Damn it all.

"Well, I hope you're happy, dear," she said more kindly. "You – " she grimaced and forced herself to continue. "You do deserve to be." _Even if I can't fathom what makes you happy_, she inwardly sighed.

Harley's voice was thick with tears: "Thanks, Red. That means a whole lot."

Ivy sighed, aware that ten minutes had passed. "So what's wrong, Harley? What do you need to talk about?"

She could practically see her friend wiggling on the other end of the line. "Well, it's just that I guess. I mean, everything's so – so normal now. It's what I wanted, so bad, all that time and now I have it and it's just… not quite how I thought it would be."

_Surprise, surprise, Ivy thought grimly. For all Harley's astuteness, she continuously failed to grasp simple truths about herself. Harley may have lacked a noble objective, but she'd loved the thrill of living life against the grain - it was where she could most be herself and where she most belonged, for all her yammering about a "normal" life. _

"It seems crazy," Harley went on, the dam having burst. "A good home, nice friends, good work to do, great guy, going out all the time, making all my own choices and it just – just feels so – _empty_. What's wrong with me, Pammie?"

In Ivy's opinion, the only thing wrong with Harley was that she had met the Joker first.

"Probably just adjustment pains," Ivy soothed her friend warmly. The guards were watching her warily now, perturbed by her sudden shift in demeanour, but she ignored them and continued. "The more time you spend with – Simon – and all the rest of it, the more you'll get used to it, I'm sure. Why, you'll probably be married in a year's time, keeping a house of your very own in those lovely gated suburbs I've heard Metropolis has so many of. You're still young enough for children, too. Two or three, perhaps." Ivy could swear she felt Harley's shudder echo down the line and smiled smugly to herself. "It really is wonderful that you got your second chance, Harley. I'm sure you'll make the most of it."

"I guess," Harley said doubtfully. "But – but what about you?"

"We'll keep in touch," Ivy said smoothly. "I'm sure Simon's friends would be terribly impressed by your compassion, writing to the disturbed lost souls of Gotham."

"Hey, don't put it like that!" Harley said indignantly. "I'd never let them think of you like that!"

"What about the Joker?" Ivy segued and, as she hoped, her friend was flustered by it.

"What about him?" she said defensively.

"Well, I'm sure he couldn't help but interfere once he's found out about your new life – and man," Ivy said meaningfully.

"Ya think?"

Ivy felt sick at the note of hopefulness in Harley's voice, but a second later her friend pushed on:

"Well, who cares anyway? I'm done with that deadbeat, done and done. I mean, have you _seen_ the way he's been carrying on the tube? Yeesh, those lame jokes! How did I never notice before? And the purple suit! So… _tacky_. And he is sponging sooo shamelessly off that tart, whatever her name is, I can't even remember. I mean how about a little dignity, Mist – uh, Joker! I'd be sooo humiliated. I mean, it shows you who had the real mettle in the end, didn't it – I came out with nothing too and I'm doing just fine. Just fine! All by myself, even."

Ivy rolled her eyes heavenwards for the duration of Harley's rant, then interjected snidely:

"He seems intent on making a new life for himself too. On the right side of the law," her voice was dark with sarcasm; she was quite sure the Clown's intentions were anything but legal. "Shame you're on such bad terms, or you could've tried it together."

From the silence that greeted her remark, Ivy could tell Harley hadn't considered that yet. Something small and mean leapt in pleasure within her breast. She could not help but get her own back on Harley for all the things she'd just thoughtlessly revealed.

"Like I would even want to!" Harley said finally, contriving disgust in her voice. "That clown would only hold me back. What a creep. What a loser. Why would I choose a schmuck like that when a guy like Simon is just dying to kiss the ground I walk on? I'd have to be crazy!"

The name of the imposter continued to rankle Ivy and she soothed herself by imagining this Simon-thing trussed up and about to be fed to one of her particularly slow-digesting plants. Imagining the look of abject terror in his eyes calmed her and she smiled and lifted a hand to twirl through her hair, slumping down in the chair and tilting her pelvis upwards. The guards watched with new attentiveness as she shut her eyes and let her neck tip back, while in her mind she blew Simon a goodbye kiss.

"So you would," she said outloud to Harley, her voice low and coaxing with the surge of sensuality she was feeling. "You know I've always been an advocate of receiving a little worship. I bet he's generous in bed too, hmmm?"

She had to know if Harley was screwing the imposter yet or not. An ordinary person would've described the need as perverse, resisted the urge to probe, but Ivy followed all of her desires, even the ones that made her sick. And somehow, the thought of this Simon-thing with Harley made her feel more nauseous than the thought of her friend's petal-perfect body being mauled by the Joker.

"Um," Harley was suddenly cagey again. "He probably is. Or would be, if I let him."

Ivy's eyes snapped open, glittering in the pale light of the little room. "Hmm?"

"Well, you see – uh – it's just that, well. I just feel more comfortable leading the action, is all."

Ivy sat up straight, her jaw dangling open. "What?"

Harley giggled weakly. "Don't sound so shocked, Pammie. S'how I always used to do things. Before I met Mistah J and – well – " _and me,_ Ivy finished silently. " – it just makes me feel better about things, being the one in control. So, I guess he hasn't had a lot of opportunity to find out what I like. It's just easier if it's all about him, anyway. You know how annoying it is every time you gotta train a new guy\."

Ivy was blinking rapidly, barely aware she was still gaping. The idea of Harley acting Stone was so unreal she was convinced this had to be some strange, medication induced fantasy – if medication had had any effect on her.

"So, you know," Harley continued with feigned nonchalance. "I drive."

Ivy couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

"Hey! What?" Harley sounded defensive and the guards were shifting restlessly, unnerved by her strange, hard peal of laughter.

"You… _drive_?" Ivy managed to snicker and Harley huffed.

"It's not that weird a concept!" she said crossly. "And he happens to enjoy it, very much!"

Ivy quieted. "Do you?"

Silence was all the answer she needed. But Harley attempted one, anyway.

"Well. If I gotta be honest then I'd have to say if there's one thing I miss about Mis – the Joker – not that I do, mind you – " she said hastily. " – then it'd be the sex. But that's all! And that's only If. And I don't. So there," Harley finished firmly.

"If you say so, Harley." Ivy spoke coolly.

Harley suddenly let out a shriek that made Ivy start, and then scowl, irritated that the guards had witnessed it.

"Holy heck, what time is it!" Harley wailed.

Ivy tilted her chin upwards and sniffed. Her green eyes were flinty with cynicism. "Just after five, Harley. _Fancy Living_ doesn't start until six, remember?"

Harley coughed. "It's not that! I, uh, told Simon I'd make dinner. Hey, weren't you going out into the garden?"

"I suppose there's still time left," Ivy said dryly.

"I love ya, Red," Harley's voice implored belief. Ivy sniffed again.

"I know, Harley."

--

_Sorry for the delay, folks!_

_Aw is sad to write H&I like this. :( snf. Though I think Ivy tends to express her caring for Harley badly._

_I'd just like to follow on from what Jarec said in his previous chapter. I agree, Harley is doubtless an astute observer and "natural" psychologist with a deep and instinctive understanding and comprehension of what makes people tick. She didn't screw her entire way through college. The way I figure it, she may have only screwed the head of the department at the end of it all. I have a feeling Harley may not have been the best at doing as much study or putting as much time into her essays as she should, and somehow I don't think maths would've been her forte. I think she has stacks of natural talent for psychiatry/psychology but at the end, she didn't quite make it through, even if she had done excellently in some classes or could've, if she'd worked a bit harder. Harley is definitely highly intelligent._

_Harley also definitely plays up her bubblehead/bimbo image and is very conscious of it and uses it to manipulate people into underestimating her. However: it's not all an act. And this is okay. I gotta say, I am not comfortable with people using terms like "bubblehead" and "bimbo" disdainfully or as though you can't be very smart and very clever when you are one. Personally, I'm a bit of a bimbo and I embrace my bimbosity. Yeah, it's annoying when people "realise" I'm smart but I'm not going to try and be someone I'm not. Harley is obviously childish, but as we see when she's "rehabilitated", that perky bimbosity remains. It IS a big part of who Harley is and I don't think we should stigmatise that behaviour. Not Harley's, or anyone else's. If we love Harley, we love ALL of her._

_*neatly hops off sparkly pink inflatable soapbox*_


	7. Chapter 7

IN the week and a half that the Joker had been on the loose, the Batclan and their operations had gone through several distinct stages. At first, they had focused on physically searching the city for their archenemy. His known haunts, his old hideouts, his former fences, known chemical suppliers…all were subjected to a rigorous and thorough search as the vigilantes hunted for a lead on the Clown Prince of Crime. That lasted for a night and a half, until Alfred happened to see the psychopath's debut on Fancy Living, and once he alerted Batman, the search took on a new character. This second phase consisted of twenty four-hour surveillance, with at least one of the Batclan following the Joker and Fancy at all times. During the night, this mainly involved Robin and Batgirl watching Fancy's apartment all night long. At the same time, Batman spent his 'free' time analyzing the days episode of Fancy Living, going over every millisecond over and over in the hopes of finding some clue of what the Joker was up to.

However, in Gotham City even a criminal like the Joker cannot always remain the top priority, especially when he doesn't appear to be doing anything. After a few days, Batman ordered his two younger protégés to alternate the monitoring schedule- each night, one would watch the apartment while the other conducted normal patrols. At the same time, he asked Alfred to watch the now-constant broadcast of Fancy Living, and to take notes of anything that seemed strange or important. Although the broadcast was not live (in fact it was a few hours behind, to allow for editing and possible censorship), it was hoped that the Joker might drop some hint of what he was really up to. When the butler protested that this would leave him no time to cook or clean, Batman replied that they were all making sacrifices and that Alfred's would be to sit on a comfortable couch and watch television instead of working all day. Alfred had smiled at that, and declared that his sacrifice in the coming days should be remembered when it came time to renegotiate his salary.

So it was that Robin found himself alone on a chilly rooftop at ten o'clock at night, watching the Joker talk with a bleached blonde bimbo. Though his high-powered binoculars allowed him a perfect view of the pair, his skills at lip reading weren't all they could be, and he could only pick up a word here and there. Fancy seemed to be bored, and the Joker was trying to entertain her. Eventually, Fancy turned away and began to take their coats out of the closet. Robin tapped his communicator.

"Robin to Oracle, come in" he said, never taking his eyes away from the binoculars.

"Oracle here, what's happening?"

"Joker and Fancy appear to be heading out, I'm not sure where… hold on a minute" he squinted, and managed to catch three words. Three words that filled him with dread. "Oh god. I know where they're going. I'll follow them, but you get to tell Batman"

"Me? Why me?"

Robin smirked as he extracted his zipline from his utility belt. "Because you're always complaining about how much you miss the excitement and danger of fieldwork. I figure telling Batman that the Joker is going to party at The Bat Cave will provide plenty of both. Robin out."

The Bat Cave was one of the more popular dance clubs in Gotham City. It was, surprisingly, an honest business, with no ties to any of the major criminal groups, and a zero-tolerance policy on drugs. It was also the place Batman hated the most.

The whole thing began shortly after Vincent DeCaverio moved to Gotham from Silicon Valley. The young millionaire had just retired from his software company at the age of twenty seven, and had come to Gotham to find excitement and fun. It was, of course, inevitable that a newcomer to Gotham would hear stories about the legendary Batman. Gothamites love telling newcomers what they 'know' about the city's quasi-mythical protector- it's more fun than telling tourists, somehow, and natives won't listen. Vince heard plenty of stories, but what really stuck in his mind were the rumors about Batman's home base. They were all pure speculation, of course, but they were some of the wildest things he'd ever heard.

'Batman has his own atomic reactor down in the Batcave. The waste and runoff and stuff get buried underground, which is why there're so many freaks in this town.'

'There's an actual cave, right, with this police barrier in front, ok? And every time Batman leaves the cave, the barrier flips down, then comes back up again. That's why no one ever just wanders in'

'There's tons and tons of big computers, all around the cave, and you can feed in any question you want and it'll give you the answer'

'There're these poles, that Batman and Robin slide down to get inside the Batcave'

'There's, like, a ton of lab equipment and chemicals of all different colors'

Vincent heard all these rumors and more, and thought to himself: 'That sounds like a great place to party'.

It took him a year of planning, and six more months of actual construction before his dream became a reality. Eventually, though, the club opened its doors, and quickly became one of top clubs in the city. It never achieved that almost mythical level of popularity that comes to places like Studio 54 or the Iceberg, but its popularity never suffered a real drop either. Moreover, by collaborating with the city and paying off the local syndicates, DeCaverio had managed to make the Bat Cave a 'clean' club- no drugs were permitted within the club, nor were there any dealers operating in the immediate vicinity. Thus, it was spared the frequent vice charges and occasional shutdowns, which plagued other nightclubs in the city.

Over time, the Bat Cave became a fixture of Gotham nightlife. It was known across the city as a nice place to go for a good, clean time in a one-of-a-kind atmosphere. This is why Fancy wanted to go- she was tired of being cooped up at night but didn't want a TV camera following her into some of her more risqué hangouts. The Joker, of course, simply couldn't resist the name.

The line to the club was a long one, and even the Joker's famous face couldn't speed things along very much. The reason for this was apparent the moment they reached the bouncer- a large man in an impeccable gray suit over a pink shirt, wearing a nametag that read 'Louie the Lilac'. The bouncer took one look at the Joker and snorted.

"Nice getup, Mac" he said, lifting the velvet rope to let the pair into the Bat Cave "but it's just employees that have to dress up. Have a nice night"

The Joker initially wanted to go back and enlighten the man, but was struck dumb by the interior of the club. The whole club was designed like a massive cave- with rocky, gray walls and stalactites hanging down from the ceiling. The place had two floors, with escalators leading up and numerous firepoles to let patrons slide back down. Along the walls were a number of huge (and badly outdated) computers, with flashing lights and whirling reels. At the center of the room was huge machine- designed to look like some sort of energy plant, it was a large metal box with bright hoses connected to it. Extending from the top was a huge pillar, divided into segments. Each segment flashed a different neon color, in time to the pounding of the music. Smoke periodically jetted out of the thing, adding to the ambience of the club. At the far end was the bar, but it was designed to look like a chemical laboratory out of a B-grade science fiction movie- the liquor was kept in labeled beakers and flasks, many of which were back-lit by neon lights.  
In short, the whole club seemed dedicated to turning the idea of Batman's headquarters into a campy joke. Needless to say, the Joker loved it.

Fancy tugged on his sleeve, and gestured to the dance floor. The clown shook his head and pointed to the bar. Fancy shrugged, and headed off to dance. The Joker strode off in search of drink, with the cameraman right behind him. When he reached the bar, the bartender – a young woman in a spangled costume with a tag identifying her as Marsha Queen of Diamonds- recognized him at once. The terror on her face was hilarious, but he forced himself not to laugh. The club had just opened, and the music was still relatively quiet, which was good. It would ruin the bit if he had to yell.

"Excuse me" he said, his voice steady and calm "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Perhaps you've seen him? ."

"I-I-I don't th-think I've seen anyone you'd know" the girl stammered.

"Oh, but I'm sure you have" the Joker purred, leaning forward to maximize her fear. This was really going better than he'd hoped. "You see, the poor fellow simply can't pass by a bar without stopping. Perhaps you've heard of him? His name is Walker, John Walker."

The girl took a moment to process this. "J-Johnny Walker?"

"Well, I suppose." the Joker sniffed "If you want to be undignified about it. To me, he'll always just be John. Have you seen him?"

Marsha had been working at the Bat Cave almost from the start. She'd been a coatcheck girl, a glowstick girl, a dancer and a waitress. In all honesty, she loved working at a club- she loved helping others to have a good time. She, like most of the staff, had initially chaffed at the weird costumes they had to come up with, but after a while found she enjoyed creating a new identity for herself. Marsha Stakowski might be a slightly dim college drop out, but Marsha Queen of Diamonds was a classy and sophisticated femme fatale. After she'd finished Bartender's School, mister DeCaverio had happily put her in charge of the bar, citing her loyalty and drive as being worth years of gin-slinging experience. If there was one thing she'd learned in all her years at the club it was this: better to suit the rules to the customer, not the other way around. A two drink minimum made no sense when applied to a lightweight eighteen year old- it would just mean another drunk in the club, and spoil at least one person's night. Better to offer the kid some juice after the first drink, and let them keep on dancing. This was a philosophy that she knew her boss shared, and so she felt safe in applying it here. Normal policy said that when it came to the high-priced and seldom ordered premium liquors, it was better to cut the drink with cheaper booze. Most club goers wouldn't know Jim Beam from moonshine, and it let the Bat Cave price their drink competitively, so where was the harm? In this case, however, she knew exactly what the harm would be, or at least who it would be done to, and decided to ignore the rules in favor of pouring a shot of pure Johnny Walker Black. Sliding it across to her customer, she risked a small joke and said "Is this the man you're looking for?"

The Joker's eyebrows went up a millimeter . It seems the girl had some spirit to go with her spirits. He knocked back the drink and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he waggled his hand back and forth. "It might be, I really can't tell from such a short glance. Could I get a better look at him?"

Marsha nodded, still frightened but feeling as though she had a better handle on the situation. "Um, a-all right... would you like it to be an icy glare or a regular look?"

"Well done, well done" the clown murmured before resuming aloud "No, we've always been close. I see no need to cool our relationship"

Marsha quickly poured a tumbler full of Johnny Walker, no ice, and slid it across to the grinning maniac. The clown nodded, and tossed a bill across the table to the bartender. "Keep the change" he said as he walked away. With trembling fingers, Marcia picked up the money. A fifty-dollar bill. The Joker had paid for a seven-dollar drink with a fifty and told her to keep the change.

'Maybe he's not so bad after all' she thought, pocketing the money and putting seven of her dollars in the till.

The Joker ambled through the club towards the dance floor, creating an interesting patter to anyone watching him from above. Although the club was beginning to fill up, and although the dance area was predictably crowded, there never appeared to be anyone directly in front of the Clown Prince. Instead, the crowd would part around the Joker, as those who saw him darted out of his path, then stood gaping at his passage. Gradually, the whole club became still, and even the music ceased. Noticing this, the Joker moved to the DJ area, where a young black man in a robe and headdress (whose nametag identified him as King Tut) stood motionless.

"Tut, tut, young...Tut" the Joker chided. "Why isn't there any music? All these young people came here to dance, and surely you don't want to disappoint them, do you?"

Tut (whose real name was Randall Wallace) shook his head, nervously. "N-n-no s-sir. I-is there something you'd like to hear?"

"Ah, so you take requests? How wonderful! Hmmm... How about Lullaby Of Birdland?"

"I-I don't have that one, sir" Tut said, trying to hide his fear.

"Ah? Well, how about Lady McGowan's Dream? That's a classic!" Joker said, sipping his drink.

"Y-yeah, b-but we really only have c-club music, sir" Tut was sure this was the last moment of his life. He swore that if he lived through this, he'd be a better person. He'd volunteer at the hospital, he'd quit cheating on his girlfriend, he'd start going to church, whatever God wanted to save him from this maniac's anger!

Against all expectation, the Joker merely sighed and took another sip from his whiskey. "I should have known better than to expect fine dancing in a place like this. Very well, my boy, play whatever you like."

With that, the Crime Clown ambled away into the crowd. Making his way to a table in the far corner, which was soon empty, he sat down and observed the crowd. It was one of his favorite hobbies, to sit and watch Homo Sapiens Gothamicus as they went through their dreary, pointless, little lives. It had a wonderful way of reinforcing his personal views on life, the universe, and the sheer ridiculous nature of it all. Tonight promised to be no exception.

* * *

Meanwhile, inside stately Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth settled in for another evening watching Fancy Living- or as his companion for tonight termed it "Lifestyles of the Rich and Fiendish". Dick Grayson had pulled a muscle the previous evening, during a scuffle with TwoFace and his gang, and had decided to take a night off to let it heal- unlike his mentor, he knew that pushing himself too hard might do more harm than good. As a result, he had offered to spend the evening watching television with Alfred, an offer the older man gladly accepted.

As Alfred switched on the immense television and adjusted the picture, Dick entered the room with two bottles of fruit juice and a large bowl of popcorn. Alfred smiled- it was nice to know that at least ONE of his charges was capable of using the kitchen without causing massive damage to the room. He'd long ago given up on Master Bruce, but he'd then found that both Master Timothy and Miss Cassandra were equally hopeless. Master Dick was far from a master chef, but at least he could use the microwave without causing an explosion.

"Here you go, Alfred" Dick said, handing a chilled bottle of Grape juice to his surrogate grandfather "Chilled to perfection, just the way you like it. Are you sure you don't mind me being here?"

Alfred smiled. "Master Dick, when have you ever known me to be the least bit hesitant to express my opinion? If I did not want you here, I would have said so when you first made your request"

"Point" Dick conceded, as he watched the butler delicately place a single kernel of popcorn into his mouth. It was always interesting to watch Alfred "off duty"- to a casual observer the gentleman's gentleman appeared to be just as formal and rigid as ever. But Dick, who knew Alfred well and had been trained in the art of observation- could pick up details others might miss. He was slouched slightly on the sofa, his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, his moustache was just slightly mussed and his tie was partially undone- all signs that Alfred Pennyworth was as relaxed as he ever would be.

"Well then" the young vigilante said with a smile "Let's see what's on"

* * *

Out on the dance floor, Fancy found herself feeling a great deal better. She was, at bottom, a party girl and she hadn't partied in weeks now. First, there was that whole business over her drunk driving and now the thing with the Joker- it just hadn't been possible to go out and cut loose properly. She already had a few of the better looking guys dancing around her, and was idly considering whether she ought to take one of them home- just to remind the Joker that she wasn't some simpering sidekick and he'd better not take her for granted. However, the night was still young, and she decided to table that issue until the end of the night. In the meantime, she drank and laughed and danced without a care in the world. She moved to the music, allowing her (somewhat inebriated) body to respond to the beat on an instinctive level. As usual, she found herself the center of attention for the entire club, with everyone taking their cue from her- not unusual, given her celebrity status. Not only was everyone's attention firmly on her, but hot guys kept bringing her drinks, while she felt the jealous eyes of every woman in the room on her. Life was good.

Suddenly, with the instincts of a lifetime prima donna, Fancy felt that attention slip away from her. She stopped dancing just as the music shut off with a screech and the crowd behind her parted. Five men in trenchcoats and clown masks strode determinedly into the center of the room, brandishing large machine pistols. The one at the front dropped a large burlap sack onto the floor before turning to address the room.

"All right, everyone" he said, his voice loud but friendly. "I don't want anyone to think of this as a robbery. Instead, I'd like you to think of it as a unique story that you can tell your friends tomorrow morning. Now, if everyone would be so kind as to fill this sack with cash, jewelry, and any small valuables they might have, we can all leave here smiling."

The silence was broken by a slow clapping. All the people in the room turned in the direction of the sound, only to see the Joker applauding.

"Well done, young fellow. It's always a pleasure to see young talent come to the fore" the clown said, rising to his feet and heading towards the robbers. "Your entrance was flawless, your demands were clear and reasonable, and I must say that your disguises bring a tear of pride to these old eyes."

The leader of the gang- whose name was Roger Tallansky- gulped audibly. He and his crew had planned this heist for months- they had charted their escape routes, paid off the security men to let them through with their weapons, they had even calculated which night of the week would produce the best haul. The Joker had NOT been a part of those plans. He'd grown up in Gotham, and had even worked as muscle for the Riddler- he knew not to underestimate a Rogue.

The Joker casually strolled up to the gang, twirling his cane in one hand. "But as much as I admire your panache, boys, I'm trying to relax here and I can't do that with you robbing the place. So why don't you kids run along and play somewhere else, hmmm?"

Roger was about to do just that. After all, they'd planned for a quick getaway, hadn't they? Sure, the bribe to the guard was a loss, but they could try again another day, couldn't they? The best thing for all concerned would be for them to leave. Unfortunately, one of his fellows didn't have such good sense as that.

"Screw that! I ain't as scared of you as these pussies. I'm from Metropolis, and you ain't shit to me." roared A.J Blake, as he pointed his weapon straight at the Joker. The clown turned, a frown on his face, to look at the thug. The big man sneered. "Yeah, that's right, finally figured it out, huh laughing boy? You ain't fightin' no fruits in tights now!"

What happened next happened almost too fast for the eye to see. The Joker ducked down and simultaneously lashed out with his cane, hooking the large man just behind the knee with the handle. Immediately, the clown rose up again, yanking on the cane and sending A.J tumbling towards the ground. Spinning the cane in his hand, the Joker thrust forward with the tip, smashing it straight into the masked man's nose. A loud crunch and a howl of pain followed, but were silenced when the Clown Prince of Crime kicked the prone thief in the head even as he snatched the falling pistol from the air. With a rapid spin, he smashed the butt of the heavy gun into the forehead of the next robber to hand, rendering him unconscious. Completing his spin, the Joker brought his new weapon up, aimed squarely at the gang's leader.

"Well, now, isn't this a funny old turn?" the Joker asked. "Now, I suppose we could have a shoot-out, me boyos, but ask yourselves this: given who you are, and who I am, do you really think it would end well for you?" He paused significantly, and after a moment Roger picked up his cue and shook his head. The maniacal clown beamed like a teacher whose slowest pupil has nevertheless passed a test.

"Very good, I knew you were bright boys. Now, you could also try to escape, but I doubt you could take these two sleeping beauties with you before the cops got here. I suppose you could leave them, but I doubt they'd be very happy when they woke up, and angry tongues tend to wag. As a third option, you could just wait for the police- I mean, you haven't actually done very much have you? You haven't taken anything, you haven't fired at anyone, and since you got in with out a fight I doubt they can charge you with forcing entry. There might be some trouble over the weapons, but I'm sure you can make some sort of deal if you tell the cops who you got them from. Now, what do you think is your best choice, clever boy?"

After a moment of silence, Roger carefully placed his gun on the floor and removed his mask. His remaining followers followed suit, and just like that it was over. The Joker waited until the club's security took the would-be robbers away before retrieving his cane from the floor.

Shoving her way through the crowd, Fancy made her way to the Joker, the cameraman close behind. When she reached him, the look of awe and admiration in her eyes was impossible to miss. "Oh, wow" she breathed "that was like SO INCREDIBLE! You were totally fearless and SO cool!"  
"Ah, dear Francine." The Joker purred, stroking her cheek with one gloved hand. "I can't tell you how much it means to me to hear you say that. But it was only my duty, for I have decided to make restitution for my crimes by doing as much good as I can." The clown leaned towards the camera, until only his eyes were visible. In a low, menacing growl, he went on: "Criminals, a superstitious and cowardly lot, will call me... Jokerman"

* * *

Batman had returned, briefly, to the Batcave to investigate a clue left at the scene of the Riddler's latest robbery. It appeared to be a small windup frog, which had been painted a bright purple. He hoped that analysis and reflection would yield some clue as to the Riddler's intentions. Just as he was about to begin studying the toy, he heard the sounds of shouting coming from the manor. He couldn't make out the actual words, but he recognized Alfred's voice and the urgency of his tone. Abandoning the clue, the Dark Knight bolted up the stairs to the manor, and raced through the vast house until he reached the TV room where Alfred kept up his 'surveillance' of the Joker.

He saw no sign of his oldest friend, but instead found the room in a state of disarray. Popcorn littered the floor, presumably spilled from the large bowl, which rested on the ground. The large television had been smashed, and later inspection revealed an empty bottle of grape juice inside the wreckage. On the couch sat Dick, with a bottle of orange drink in his hand and a shocked expression on his face.

Turning to face his mentor, all that the shocked young hero could say was "I didn't think Alfred KNEW that sort of language"

A/N

Sorry this took so long. Life got in my way.

I wanted to take a moment to talk about the upcoming Batman: Arkham Asylum game. In particular, two facts struck me as potentially interesting. First, Arleen Sorkin is part of the cast, reprising her role as Harley Quinn. This is good in and of itself- with Mark Hamill as the Joker and Kevin Conroy as Batman, the classic cast is all there. But more than that, her presence is made even more noteworthy by fact number two: the game is being scripted by Paul Dini.

Why is this significant, you ask? Dini, apart from being the creator of the delightful Miss Quinn, is also one of DC's better writers. So, if Harley is reappearing as the Joker's girl in a game he wrote, it seems to indicate that he wants her back in that role. It seems to me the game might be a way of testing that idea- DC would have a way of comparing Harley'' popularity as a villainess with...whatever it is she is now (heroine? Reformed crook? Social worker?). Let's hope that if they do, they draw the correct conclusions, and bring her Harleyness back to the side of murder, mayhem and hilarity.

Anyone doubting the Joker's fighting skills when fighting the gang should consider this- the Joker regularly engages in hand-to-hand combat with Batman. While its true that he loses, just the fact that he's able to try speaks volumes about his ability. A few punks in masks should be no trouble.


	8. Chapter 8

Simon Goldberg awoke in a haze of bliss.

He lay in bed and blinked at the ceiling for several long moments, contemplating the unexpectedly delightful turn his life had recently taken.

At thirty-seven, Simon knew his life had already been a great success. He'd devoted enormous amounts of time and energy in making sure it would be so – right up to and beyond the point he'd graduated as Valedictorian from Yale Law, his life had been defined by the effort he put into into achieving.

He knew he wasn't a creative thinker, or a renegade with revolutionary ideas. He knew there were other people who were quicker than he was, more innovative and adept.

But he could do one thing none of them could, and that was work.

Work with a devotion that was obsessive in its single-mindedness. When Simon set his mind to a task, it became his world. It was in this way he'd marched his way through high school, university and his first job through which he had risen from a lowly clerk whilst still in law school steadily up through to junior partner – with a very real possibility of equity parntership in the not-so-distant future. Sheer dogged determination and countless hours had ensured his success and whilst it had never been easy, his work ethic had reaped its rewards, just the way his father had always told him it would.

Thoughts of his father made him smile – the father who had worked hard his whole life, much like Simon – except his father had worked double-shift days as a warehouse packer to get him through the best education possible. Now, thanks to the sacrifices his father had made, Simon was successful enough to support his parents, setting them up in a lovely little house in a nice, quiet gated suburb on the outskirts of Metropolis with a thriving Jewish population. A lovely little house that he would soon take Harley to visit at...

His smile grew as Harley drifted into his thoughts. Truly, she was the reason for the warm swell of happiness that had suffused his days of late.

He knew he wasn't the most dynamic or interesting guy around. It had taken him long years of practice to get over his natural shyness. His devotion to his work meant that he didn't get a whole lot of time to really socialise, either. But he was a traditional soul and hoped one day he might meet a nice girl who could love him even if he was shy, work-driven and kinda ordinary. He knew he had a lot of love to give – a man could not be complete without a woman to adore, another lesson he had learned from watching the way his father had quietly and loyally revered his mother over the years.

But Harley - never, in his wildest dreams, had he thought he'd find a girl like Harley to be with. Sparkling, ebullient, fascinating and outgoing, she was the sort of girl he thought would ordinarily look right past him. Screwing up his courage to approach her at the farmer's market, where she'd first caught his eye in a strawberry-print halter top and a beaming smile, had almost induced a premature coronary and he'd been somewhat relieved when she'd politely taken his card with no commitment to calling.

But then she _had_ called. Then everything had become a whirlwind.

Simon stretched his arms up above his head and arched his back as pleasant memories of the day flitted through his mind, the Metropolis evening breeze gently filtering in through the nearby window. Never before had he spent a Saturday in bed – the very idea was outrageous! But he and Harley had been out to a salsa club last night – another something he never thought he'd do – and before he'd even known it, it had been five in the morning and he'd had to catch a dancing Harley off the bar when the lights had come up.

They'd collapsed into bed and the next time he'd opened his eyes, it had been one in the afternoon and Harley had been sitting up next to him, chewing sweetly on her lower lip, staring intently at the flatscreen television set against the far wall. He'd watched her adoringly for a few quiet moments until the sound of raucous laughter from the set had startled him.

Harley had jumped and glanced at him with an expression he'd seen in the courtroom too many times to not recognise it – guilt.

"What?" she'd queried him defensively and, puzzled, he'd lifted his head to the television set.

After a moment, he'd recognised the progam – that awful reality show with the spoiled heiress and that lunatic the Joker – and understood Harley's guilt.

She'd looked a little surprised when he'd laughed softly. "It's okay," he teased her, "we all like to watch a little trash now and then."

She'd half-smiled and jabbed at the remote, switching the set off. "I was just between channels!" she lightly protested and he lifted an arm to tickle her playfully.

She'd flinched back, which had given him pause. It wasn't the first time she'd reacted that way to his sudden movements and it frankly perturbed him.

But then Harley was throwing back the comforter and straddling him, her toned thighs curving over his chest, her small breasts seeming high above his head as she smiled wickedly down at him and all he could do was gaze up at her in wonder.

"You know bad boys get punished for spying on innocent girls!" she purred, and he had succumbed to her charms without a word of protest.

He'd never known erotic pleasure of such intensity before Harley. For once in his life, it was wonderful to let himself be clay in another's hands, to be shaped and molded according to her desire. Harley knew what she wanted and how to take it and it seemed she most enjoyed taking control of his body and gifting him with immense bliss. She was generous and attentive, energetic and expert, asking nothing for herself but giving to him wholly. It left him giddy and breathless.

Afterwards he was exhausted, as usual, and drifted off to sleep once more.

Now he was awake, the last rays of the sun were washing his bedroom in muted hues of red and gold, and he could hear Harley singing cheerily in the rooms beyond. The lights of Metropolis were beginning to twinkle as the indigo sky steadily descended and Simon gazed upon them as he mused over the last few pleasurable hours.

His smile faded a little. He couldn't deny he loved the sex – but he also couldn't help but wish Harley would let him be more hands-on about things, even take the lead now and again. He was a naturally giving person and Harley was a beautiful girl – he wanted to give her the same pleasure she gave him. But she swore up and down that doing it her way was what she most enjoyed. All of the articles he'd read about making sex more satisfying for women spoke about reciprocation, focusing attention on her – yet Harley claimed the exact opposite.

He frowned to himself as he lay in bed, contemplating the city skyline outside his balcony. He hoped she was telling the truth.

Then the smell of toast wafted into the bedroom, distracting his thoughts and with a sense of urgency, he threw back the covers and struggled into his boxers. In keeping with her nature, Harley's cooking was definitely one-of-a-kind.

"Hey sweetie!" Harley exclaimed, beaming, when she saw him. "It's time for late-afternoon-early-evening breakfast! The best meal ever!"

She was just about to crack an egg into the frypan when he skidded around the kitchen counter and laughingly arrested her hand. Her face contorted with alarm as his body rushed up against her own tensing one and he again felt that quiet discomfiture bloom in his heart.

But then she seemed to see the gentle playfulness on his face and squealed as he pressed a warm kiss against her cheek. "It's my turn to do something for you!" he insisted. "You do too much for me as it is!"

"Awww," her cheeks were flushed as they cuddled in the kitchen. "But I like doing things for you! It's what I enjoy..."

"I enjoy it too," he assured her, "but you have to let me give a little back now and then!"

"But - " she started protesting, but he disregarded it, lifting her onto the nearby bench where she sat, sweet and sexy in one of his crumpled suit shirts.

"Scrambled eggs, poached salmon, hashbrowns, goat's cheese, grilled mushrooms with spinach and bagels– how does that sound?" he queried her as he began fetching bowls and ingredients from the cupboards.

She wrinkled her nose. "I hate fish."

"Sausage?"

The smile returned, a beam of light. "Okay!"

He began cracking eggs into a bowl, mixing in crème fraiche and fresh chopped parsley. It was an unadventerous breakfast perhaps, but he knew he made it damn well – and it was nutritious. As he whipped the scrambled egg mixture, he cast a dubious eye across the ingredients Harley had assembled on the counters before he'd intervened: cheese whip and cookie dough, fruit loops, blueberry bagels, peanut butter and jelly, bananas and – bacon bits! Nothing he'd ever buy, which meant that Harley had been shopping.

"What on earth did you think you were going to make?" he queried her incredulously and she shrugged.

"It was going to be a surprise," she said, as though that would explain everything and he couldn't help but laugh. She wiggled a little, seeming uneasy. "Ya know, you really should let me cook breakfast. I'll make anything you tell me," there was a note of pleading in her voice and he found it curious. "I just would feel better. I'm not used to bein' waited on." She rubbed her nose cutely.

"Don't be silly," he chided her gently, "it's a pleasure for me to cook for you."

She cocked her head to the side. "Really?" There was a note of disbelief in her voice.

He chuckled and poured the eggs into the pan, quickly stirring them with a wooden spoon. "Of course – that's what it's all about, isn't it – doing things for each other?"

The eggs began to form soft curds and he continued to stir. A moment later and Harley spoke again: "No one's ever cooked for me before."

The strange note in her voice made him turn around. She was staring at him with wide eyes, something both confused and hopeful in their depths. He felt oddly confronted, not understanding the conflicted blend of emotions in her gaze.

Hastily, he turned back to the eggs. "I'll cook for you anytime," he said, slightly abashed. Should he have asked her what was troubling her, probed her suddenly impenetrable thoughts? He had the feeling something big lurked there and he just didn't want to face it right then. "Cook, rub your feet, take out the trash, get you ice cream in the middle of the night..." he sounded flip, but he meant every word.

"You're the best, Si," her voice was soft and tender. "Better than I deserve..."

He turned again and gazed at her where she sat with her ponytails fluffed out around her face, and her cheeks still pink from sleep, swinging her legs back and forth, her ankles bumping against the cupboard doors and felt a rush of protective desire overwhelm him.

"None of that talk now," he urged and leant over to kiss her gently, taking her hands in his. He felt her grip them tight as she returned the kiss and then, from the open-plan living room behind them, there was the sudden rush of wind and a loud thump.

They both started and Harley broke the kiss to whip her head around. Simon followed her gaze and felt his jaw dangle open even as he leapt violently backwards.

There, in his living room, red cape billowing and arms folded across his massive chest, stood Superman.

Simon could only gape in astonishment at the imposing figure that loomed in his home, even as Harley scowled.

"Ain'tcha ever heard of knockin', Boy Scout?" Harley snapped and through his gaping shock, Simon could swear the Man of Steel's cheeks reddened.

"Ah, excuse me, I didn't mean to interrupt," Superman said in a voice Simon had heard only once before, a soft and well-mannered voice that was nonetheless lined with assured strength.

"Guh– guh – guh - " Simon sputtered, watching in astonishment as Harley leapt down from the kitchen bench and strode out towards the superhero without a moment's hesitation, the tails of her borrowed shirt fluttering over her bottom.

Ya "think ya can just barge into people's private homes whenever ya like?" she demanded of the mighty man whose chiselled jaw shifted uncomfortably at the sight of the petite woman all too obviously wearing nothing beneath the suit shirt she wore. "Last time I checked that was breakin' and enterin', ya Big Blue Cheese!"

Simon swallowed and finally found his voice. "Harley, I really don't think - "

"Can it, Si, I'm talking to the Superham over here!" Harley snapped at him and Simon fell back once more before casting a nervous glance at the caped hero.

The Metropolis Marvel stood up a little straight and lifted his chin. "Miss Quinn, given your dubious past, I'm perfectly within my rights to pay you a – housecall. Especially considering current circumstances."

Harley was unfazed, coming up flush with Superman's toes and crossing her own arms furiously. "Ya coulda called ahead," she pointed out sharply. "Even tappin' on the window-pane woulda showed some respect. Or are you so caught up in ya self-righteous crusade you forget _some_ of us are just tryin' to get on with our lives _without _the past risin' up to _ruin_ what we mighta found, hrm?"

Simon had no idea what was going on. For some reason, Superman – the world's best beloved superhero – was here in his living room, apparently to talk to his girlfriend. Who was thoroughly nonchalant and not in the least bit afraid about it all. Even as Harley finished speaking and glared demandingly at the hero, tapping her foot, Simon saw Superman's gaze shift over to him before a look of abrupt realisation and remorse washed over his wholesome features.

"I'm sorry," he said stiffly to Harley. "I didn't consider - "

"No surprises there, _Stupor_man," Harley stuck her nose in the air and turned her back to the Man of Tomorrow, who bristled and furrowed his brow. "Ask anyone – I've been living like a certifed saint. Ya had no right."

"What's going on?" Simon managed weakly and Harley shot him a pained look, sudden misery in her blue eyes. That roused him.

"Look, Mister – Superman," he came out from the kitchen and walked quickly over to his girlfriend, putting an arm protectively across her shoulders. "My girlfriend has done nothing wrong and this is my private home. I'm quite familiar with the intricacies of the law. Your conduct is quite outside of it," he was pleased at how fearless he sounded, though his heart was hammering like a drum. Too late, he recalled the alien could hear it. Nonetheless, he went on: "I'm going to have to ask you to stop harrassing her and leave immediately."

Superman fixed Simon with a gaze tinged both with faint incredulity and respect. "Sir, I realise you don't know what's going on, but my reason for being here is quite legitimate and I think Miss Quinn would agree."

"Says you," Harley rolled her eyes belligerently. "If you think I give a tinker's toe what that creepy, grinning fiend is getting up to, think again, Supey. I could care less – he could make a fool of himself with Joan Rivers and a tube of crazy string and I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes open! He and I are long through."

Superman turned his head to the side and surveyed Harley closely. "Actually, that isn't my concern. A mutual friend of ours thought you might have some idea what scheme he's building up to. I'm sure you understand the importance of taking action on this before anything – unfortunate – occurs."

Simon blinked rapidly, more confused than ever but distinctly uneasy at the implication beneath Superman's words, turning his head to peer down at Harley.

Harley floundered for a moment before scoffing. "Ya don't actually think I've been paying enough attention to figure that out, do ya?"

When Superman made no answer other than a single brow cocked disbelievingly, she stomped one foot furiously, her fists clenched by her sides. "Oooh! You caped goons are all the same – ain't a one of you got any respect for me! Well, I'll show you – I've figured him out before when none of you could, and I'll do it again and you can all choke on ya capes!"

With that she marched over to the sofa, retrieved the remote control and jabbed it towards the television, which flickered to life. Coasting quickly through the channels, she found what she was looking for and in silence the three of them watched as _Fancy Living_ played out across the screen.

Simon felt a lump catch in his throat as he began to get an inkling of what was going on around him, the sense of surreality increasing steadily. Bewildered, he gazed at his harmless-looking blonde girlfriend as she pouted intently at the screen, Superman – the _friggin Superman – _striding over to stand nearby, also watching with a look of concentration as the Joker lounged, lanky limbs crossed over each other, in the corner of a trashy looking club, a glass of dark amber liquid held between his thumb and middle finger, making snarky and astute observations on the club patrons to the camera.

Simon watched the notorious madman for a moment, his stomach knotting with unease as it always did when confronted with such ruthless criminality (he never took a case unless he was absolutely sure his client was innocent). He glanced again at Superman, his magnificent physique silhouetted in the dim living room, illuminated only by the flicker of the television now that the sun had fully set. Then he looked once more at Harley who watched with a bored and irritated expression as the Joker rose from his chair to confront what seemed, impossibly, to be a band of thieves.

He had the sudden and very uncomfortable feeling he'd seen Harley somewhere before. Somewhere he knew he would rather not have seen her.

The drama onscreen increased in intensity and Superman visibly tensed. "He set that - " the Man of Steel began before Harley shushed him.

"This ain't his gig," she snapped, "he'd never be so gauche. Now quiet, Stupes."

Simon again boggled at Harley's easy rudeness to the most powerful man alive, but Superman himself seemed barely to notice.

Fancy herself was now on screen, some feet behind the Joker, gaping in dazed horror as one rebellious thief, unlike his compatriots, stood up to the Joker, his gun pointed firmly in the direction of the Clown Prince.

Harley leant forward, her shoulders hunched up and her fists clenched, her eyes wide and staring as the drama unfolded.

"Shoot," she whispered fiercely. "Shoot _now_!"

Simon was shocked to hear her betray so violent a thought, but Superman's gaze whipped in Harley's direction and, despite his super-control, he gaped a little. Simon again marvelled at the strange power Harley seemed to have over this _ubermensch_ and then the full import of the situation hit him: _Superman was consulting his girlfriend on the motivations of the Joker_.

He felt goosebumps crawl across his flesh.

Then, effortlessly, the Joker disarmed the robber to the wonder of the crowd – and the three of them – before persuading the small gang to turn themselves in. Superman made a small sound of pure shock and as Fancy ran squealing up the grinning former criminal, Harley snorted and switched the television off.

"What a let-down," she muttered crossly and Simon gazed at her in bewilderment, feeling there was much more to this girl than he had ever realised. She tossed the remote onto the couch then began to pad towards the kitchen. "Our eggs are gonna be ruined by now, Si," she sighed.

Simon could not respond, uable to take his eyes from Superman, who glided forward with muscles rippling powerfully beneath his suit. How could she be so – flippant – around a man who could hold the roof above their heads on the point of his little finger?

And how could she have any idea what the Joker would be up to?

"Well?" Superman queried her expectantly, frowning.

"Well, what?" Harley snapped back, poking at the pan of cold, clotted scrambled eggs distastefully, glancing over her shoulder at the Last Son. "Oh, him. You're gonna have to disappoint Tall, Dark and Gruesome, I'm afraid. The J-Man ain't got nothin' cookin' that I could spot. No plans, no big scheme, no nasty surprises."

Superman was visibly surprised, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Are you sure?" he said in a voice imbued with meaning.

Harley let the fry pan clatter back onto the stove. "Yeah, I'm sure!" she turned around, gritting her teeth before letting her gaze drop in contemplation. "I think he just wants to get on with his life," she seemed to muse, almost wonderingly. Then her head snapped up, eyes flashing. "Like me. If _you_ haven't ruined it," her voice was bitter and accusatory and Simon swore he caught Superman flinch a little.

After a long, heavy moment during which Simon wondered what possible insanity could unfold next, the Man of Steel spoke gently: "You deserve your second chance, Harley. I'll report you're making the most of it."

The corner of Harley's mouth slid upwards in a cynical grin. "Now, now, _he _was never my Daddy," there was a wicked timbre to her voice that made both men shift uncomfortably before they realised it.

Harley sauntered over to Superman and smiled playfully up at him, a tinge of strange malice in her eyes. "Hows Lo', by the way?"

The look of compassion on Superman's face shifted abruptly to a scowl. "Now that's none of your business," he began to turn away.

Harley snorted. "My life was none of _your_ business. Hey, pass this onto the Dork Knight for me, willya - " and just when Simon thought Harley's conduct couldn't shock him anymore, she soundly goosed Superman's shapely butt.

Superman jumped a literal foot in the air and yelped. Then he whipped around, his cheeks an unmistakeable brick-red and his posture defensive even in the dim light.

"Now – just – that – how - " the Man of Tomorrow sputtered, looking rapidly from Harley to Simon, his composure entirely scattered.

Though he knew it was obvious, Simon pointed a damning finger at Harley who smiled cheekily at the Metropolis Marvel. "Wouldn't want him to forget my special touch," she said slyly. "And gotta keep _you_ on your toes..."

Superman cleared his throat and swept a hand back through his raven hair before straightening up tall, carefully not looking at Simon, his cheeks still flushed.

"You and your ex always _were_ adept at that," Superman said dryly. Harley flicked a dismissive hand towards him and then turned back towards the couch, switching the television on and flopping down.

Superman strode to the living room balcony, where he paused a moment, his cape catching the wind and fluttering around him as he turned towards Simon, not quite meeting his eyes. In great disbelief, Simon realised the world's most invulnerable man was still embarrassed by Harley's carefully placed pinch. "Sorry to have disturbed your evening, Sir," he said politely.

Before Simon could respond, and right before his astonished very eyes, Superman raised his arms and leapt into the air, flying hastily away. That the Man of Steel had escaped with relief had not been lost on Simon and he stared as the mighty man became a distant speck on the horizon, marvelling what his girlfriend had achieved with such little effort.

His mouth again gaping for what felt like the hundredth time that night, Simon turned to Harley who, it seemed, hadn't bothered to watch the superhero's impressive departure. She gazed fixedly at the television, head propped on one hand, flicking restlessly through the channels, before darting an edgy glance up at her boyfriend.

Simon exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and blinked rapidly. "So," he began. "I guess my first question is – how on earth do you know Superman?"


	9. Chapter 9

It didn't take long for the GCPD to arrive at the Bat Cave, ostensibly to pick up the now thoroughly cowed robbers. In actuality, Commissioner Gordon had told his detectives to try and hustle the Joker out of the club- the idea of that homicidal maniac at play in such a crowded area wasn't one the veteran cop liked at all. So it was that while two patrolmen read the captured criminals their rights, detectives Bullock and Montoya were talking to the club's manager, while the Joker and Fancy looked on in amusement. Naturally, the camera caught the entire affair on tape.

"Ya mean ya don't want us to do nothin' about the Joker?!" Bullock exclaimed as he glared down at the younger (and shorter) man.

"No way," the manager said. He was a young man, in his late twenties and clearly a former club kid himself. Despite his professional clothing, his hair was frosted and geled into improbable spikes, while his ears bore numerous piercings. "The Joker saved everyone in the club tonight, and the management feels we should repay him." Turning to the clown, the man extended one hand. "Thank you. Whenever you come to the Batcave, your drinks will be on the house. I know all about what you've done in the past, but I think tonight you've shown that you've changed. You're a hero"

"How 'bout that, Bullock ol' boy?" the Joker said, grinning at the large cop as he vigorously pumped the manager's hand. "I'm a hero! Maybe if you're real good, and send in all your Kruncho Flakes box tops, I'll let you join my fan club! You'll get a free Joker shirt and your very own decoder ring!"

Bullock's eyes went wide and a vein in his forehead started to throb menacingly. Seeing that her partner was about to explode on national television, Renee Montoya decided to step in.

"Mister Kinison" she said, addressing the manager in her most reasonable tone, despite the fact that every word was like ashes on her tongue. "No one debates that the Joker saved lives here tonight, but the fact remains that his actions put everyone in the club at risk. If just one of those thugs had been a little quicker this whole club would be covered in blood. At the very least, you should press for reckless endangerment charges."

"I'm not gonna say it again. No charges." Kinison said, frowning at the two detectives.

"Awright" Bullock said, throwing up his hands "yer business. You want this whack job hanging around, I ain't gonna stop ya. C'mon, Renee, let's get outta here."

"Hold on, now, Detective" Fancy said with an evil smirk at the Joker "Don't you think a man who saved so many lives tonight is owed a handshake and a thank you?"

Bullock and Montoya both glared at the clown, but all around them the crowd gave scattered sounds of agreement. Montoya glanced at the cameras and remembered the lecture about creating good PR for the department. Pasting a large smile on her face she stepped forward with her hand out. The Joker gripped her hand enthusiastically and shook twice, with every sign of enjoyment at her discomfort.

"You did...the right... thing Joker" the young detective ground out. "We... owe you...our thanks."

"Think nothing of it, my dear" the CLown Prince of Depravity cooed, clearly pleased by this turn of events. "I seek no accolades, but only hope to serve others. Not unlike yourselves, really, or dear old Jimmy Gordon."

Duty done, Montoya stormed out of The Bat Cave, with Bullock and the two uniformed officers right behind her. Once they reached the parking lot, Renee made a beeline for her car, where she sat waiting for Bullock who was talking with the other two. Finally, the slovenly detective made his way over to their car, and handed his partner a box of wipes.

"Here" he said as he passed them through the open window before moving around to the passenger side door. Puzzled, Renee examined the box until she heard her partner's bulk land on his seat.

"What're these? Baby wipes" She asked.

"Nah, they're Burnbaum's antibacterial wipes" Bullock said, pointing out the window to one of the other cops. "He said he thought ya might want these- said feel free ta use the whole box if ya want."

Renee smiled and cleaned her hand off with three of the astringent cloths. To her surprise, it did make her feel a bit better, although she wouldn't really feel clean until she'd had a shower. She chuckled, and said "He's a lot brighter than he looks, isn't he?"

Bullock shrugged dismissively. "Eh. Rookies always look dumb- that's why they're rookies. It's onea them laws a nature."

Back in the club, the crowd slowly returned to its previous festive state. Some moved to the side alcoves to resume private conversations, while others made their way to the bar to celebrate the night's events. Most, however, followed Fancy and the Joker onto the dance floor. The clown made his way back to the DJ's area, where 'King Tut' stood smiling at his saviour. The Joker noted, in passing, how easy it was to win over the crowd- a few theatrical blows against amateurish thugs and the masses would forgive you anything. With a gesture, he beckoned the young man over to his side.

"Listen, Tut" he stage-whispered "I wonder if you could do me a favor? The mood in the room is, well, it's a bit grim isn't it? No one seems to be enjoying themselves, and if there's one thing any clown hates to see it's a bunch of grim little party-poopers. Could you put on something, I don't know, happy? You know, something bouncy and cheerful with a lot of pep"

"No problem, man" the black youth said with a smile "I got just the thing. New techno single called Sunshyn St8."

The single was indeed bouncy and full of pep, and soon the Bat Cave's dance floor was once again filled with energetic dancers. The Joker returned to his corner table to wait for what he knew would be coming. Sure enough, Fancy made her way to his table, drink in hand and a huge smile on her face, with the cameraman right behind her. The girl smiled up at him, and amazingly, her warmth appeared to be genuine.

"Like, I just wanted to thank you again" she said, drawing the Joker into a hug.

The Joker wrapped his arms around the smaller girl and let her put her head on his chest. "It was nothing, Francine, truly."

Hours later, the pair headed back to Fancy's apartment building. The rich girl had spent the evening trying to match the Joker's drinking, and consequently had to be supported by her grinning companion. The cameraman followed behind at a distance sufficient for the full perverse weirdness of the slim girl's stumbling body against the tall madman's figure to be totally captured. Davey opened the doors, got the elevator and unlocked the apartment, but the Joker insisted on helping the young heiress by himself. "After all" he argued "it's my fault she's...not feeling well at the moment. It's only right that I make amends". The bodygaurd wisely decided that he wasn't being paid anything like enough to argue with the Joker and let the matter drop. Perhaps, if he had pressed the point, things might have turned out differently for him. As it was, the burly man was the first through the door into the luxurious apartment, and thus the first one to run into Nightwing.

Taking no chances, the young vigilante grabbed Davey by the front of his shirt, spun, and hurled the massive man into the far wall of the apartment. Davey landed with a crash, and slid down to the floor unconscious. The hubbub momentarily roused Fancy, who shrieked piercingly, the only soundtrack to the sudden violence being broadcast. After making sure that the former enforcer was indeed out cold, Nightwing turned his attention to the Joker, who watched the proceedings with an exaggerated expression of horror, while behind him the cameras continued to roll.

Nightwing winced inside. He hadn't expected the cameras to be here this late at night- Tim's surveillance reports stated that the cameramen usually went home at eight. Still, there was nothing to do but press on- he couldn't go back to Batman and report that he'd assaulted the bodyguard and then left. With a mental shrug, he made ready to continue as planned. He stalked towards the Joker, and grabbed the clown by his lapels. The Joker's expression never changed, as though he hadn't even noticed the violence of the vigilante's entrance. Released from the clown's supporting grip, Fancy slumped happily against the wall, kept standing only by sheer luck.

"Saw you on TV tonight, clown" Nightwing growled, yanking the taller man forward and off balance. "Why do I have the feeling that whole thing was just a little too pat to be coincidence?"

"What are you doing here, boyo?" the Joker asked coolly. "Did you really miss me so much? And by the way, was it really necessary to be so rough with poor, innocent Davey"

Nightwing shook the Joker violently, disgusted by this obvious theater. "The same thing I'm going to do to YOU if you don't start talking, clown."

"Hey" Fancy slurred, lurching to her feet and staggering over. "Leave 'im lone, ya mashked mmmeany. He ain' done nothin bad!"

"Right" Nightwing said, never taking his eyes off the Joker. "Just murder, robbery, assault, criminal indifference, arson, and a dozen other crimes. Nothing to get worked up about, I'm sure"

"Oh, Hotwings. You can't honestly believe I had anything to do with those ham-fisted amateurs!" the Joker cried, his voice full of righteous indignation "I'm a changed man! A better man!"

Nightwing snorted, giving the Joker a brisk shake. "I've heard that song before, Joker. Why don't you try another one?"

Fancy finally managed to stagger to Nightwing, and jabbed her finger into his chest. "Lissen freak, iff you gotta warrant er somethin' I wanna see it now! Otherwise get th' hhhhell outta here!". Having apparently exhausted her remaining energy, the girl slumped forward against Nightwing's chest, apparently unconscious.

"She raises a valid point, Wingy" the Joker quipped "DO you have a warrant?"

Nioghtwing sighed, gently so that Fancy wouldn't fall over. The last thing he needed was for a multi-millionairess to be hurt on camera because of him. "Since when do I need a warrant to put a stop to your tired gags, Joker? We've done this so many times, you'd think you'd know better by now"

If Nightwing hoped to anger the Joker into giving something away, he was Joker didn't even bat an eye, but instead gently pulled out of Nightwing's grip. "Since I'm free legally now, Bat-Junior. That means I get all the same wonderful rights that the other lemmings- er, citizens, enjoy. Like the right not to be attacked by spandex-clad simpletons who are stuck in Daddy-Bat's shadow. Now, unless you have a warrant, I suggest you leave- you're upsetting the lady."

"Lady?" Nightwing smirked "I just see a drunk girl playing with things she doesn't understand"

NOW the Joker got angry. His habitual grin faded into a snarl as he shoved his face directly into that of Nightwing. "Listen here, buck-o. I won't have you talking that way about my...friend. Got it?" he growled. Although his face expressed nothing, Nightwing involuntarily took a half-step back. The Joker saw this and backed down, a smug grin now crossing his face.

"As I said, Nightingale, I'm not up to anything and you're on private property" the Joker said calmly, dusting off the front of his coat with exaggerated care. "Also, I think you've humiliated yourself enough for one night, don't you Chickenwing?"

Nightwing growled, but turned away. The truth was, with the camera rolling, he couldn't push this any further, and he really had lost control of the situation. "I'll be watching you, clown- and we both know you don't have the self-control to keep this good-guy act up for long. Then we'll have a nice long talk about that Chickenwing crack- just you, me, and a series of blunt objects." With that, the long-haired crime fighter leapt out the window into the night.

Riding the thermals with his suit's built-in glider wings, Dick Grayson swooped across the darkened streets onto the roof of a small building. There he found Batman waiting for him, having observed the entire encounter through a pair of high-powered binoculars and a listening device on Nightwing's collar. Before his mentor could say anything, Nightwing raised his hand.

"I know, I know" he said in a weary tone "I handled that badly. I should have seen the cameraman first thing, and I shouldn't have been so agressive. I let the Joker portray himself to the audience as a victim, and myself as a violent nutcase."

Batman grunted and turned back to his observation of the apartment, clearly agreeing with everything his first partner had said and indicating that he felt no further reproach was necessary. After a moment of silence, the Dark Knight spoke. "You backed away from him when he got angry. Why?"

Nightwing sighed internally, but answered his mentor's question. "Honestly? I haven't been that close to the Joker in years, and it brought back some bad memories. I flashed back to my first face to face encounter with him, way back when I was just starting as Robin. You remember? He'd been killing people left and right with that delayed action toxin, and while I was searching for clues he ambushed me. It was the first time I really realized how dangerous our work is- that it's not just a game, and that I could die any night. Having the Joker snarl at me brought back all the old fear, and I backed away."

Batman grunted again and resumed his observations. Nightwing crouched down on the rooftop and, withdrawing his own binoculars, joined him.

Back in the apartment, the Joker led the inebriated heiress over to the sofa, taking care not to jostle her too much. Once they were seated, he gently took her hand and smiled at her- a small, warm smile, completely unlike his usual manic grin."Francine" he said, his voice low and quiet "I can't tell you how much it meant to me for you to stand up for me the way you did. I've faced that brutal vigilante and his mentor so many times, and it always ended in pain for me. Not that I didn't deserve it back then, but... it was still wonderful to have a guardian angel defending me."

Fancy giggled drunkenly, and leaned her head onto the Joker's padded shoulder. "S' Okay." she said, her voice also quiet and filled with emotion. "S not like I've ever had anyone stick up fer me the way you did. An' not jus' tonight either. With daddy, with that shtupid reporter, an' all the rest. You really treat me nice"

The Joker chuckled. "Oh well now, Francine, what can I say? When a beautiful and gracious young lady needs help, Jokerman will always be there."

Rather than laughing, Fancy let out a long sad sigh. Sensing something coming, the cameraman zoomed in close on the couple, neither of whom appeared to notice. Indeed, the Joker was preoccupied with his companion. "Francine? Is something the matter?"

"'S just...." Fancy said in a wistful voice "I've never really met anyone who saw the real me. All anyone ever shaw wass the glittery, ditzy, shpoiled party girl. You, you see the real Francine Carlton- smart, kind, classy..."

"Come, come" the Joker said, patting her shoulder. "Surely not everyone sees you that way? What about your parents? Mumsy and Daddy MUST know what a wonderful angel they produced"

"HA!" Fancy exclaimed, sitting up with a jolt. Then suddenly she sobbed once, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, seeming overcome with emotion.

"Francine?" the Joker coaxed. "What's wrong? Did I say something to stir bad memories? Say, come to think of it – I've not heard word one about your dear old mama since we met."

Fancy raised wet eyes to the Joker's face, sniffling loudly and swallowing several times to regain her composure. "That would be because Momma doesn't care squat about me," she snivelled.

"Oh Francine," the Joker wrapped his hands around hers, pulling them onto his lap. "I'm sure that's not true," his voice was coddling and tender.

"It's true," Fancy was making a valiant effort to hold onto her emotions, with little success. "She always used to tell me how I'd ruined her life – ruined her figure – she was a beauty queen you know – she told me that right up until the day she left, when I was six. I'm never gonna have kids you know, I don't wanna grow up hating some dumb kid just because she gives me a fat ass."

"Oh Francine," the Joker cooed, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. "I'm sure you'd never let that happen..." whether he meant being abusive to her child or getting a weight rearend was unclear.

"She never had time for me," Fancy continued woefully. "Neither of them. Daddy was always workin'. I mean, ALWAYS. You know what happened on my fifth birthday? The servants baked a cake, decorated a room, an' both my parents walk in an', an', an'... an' they ask..." Fancy's pretty, vapid face screwed up into a mask of pain, "_they ask what was going on!"_ Finally, the drunken girl burst into impassioned tears, slumping over and bawling her heart out. The Joker was immediately solicitous, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders and coaxing her head onto his chest. After a moment of weeping, Fancy flung her arms around his neck and clung to him as she let out what seemed like years of repressed emotion.

After a long moment, she sat back. "You wanna know somethin'?" she continued earnestly. "They din't wanna have a baby- I was an accident. Thass what momma tol' me one time when she was drunk. Only reason they din't get an abortion was because Daddy needed to look like a fam'ly man to the of the time it was just me and the servants. Not a lot of fun but - " and suddenly Fancy's expression took on a rather hard cast. "No one to keep me from doin' what I wanted either," she finished coldly, leaving no one watching in any doubt how the monster known as Fancy Carlton had come to be. "In fact, Daddy let me do anythin' I wanted just so'as I'd leave him alone."

"Awww," the Joker cooed, pushing a wet strand of hair back off her face and then taking her chin in his hand. "Maybe it was just because he wanted you to be happy?"

Fancy's expression took on a dreamy look, as though the nurturing way the Joker touched her was putting her under a sort of spell. "I was really only happy in school..." she murmured. "Everyone loved me in school. Everyone listened to me. Followed me around. Did things for me. Everyone wanted to be like me... or wanted me. I never been so happy since school. I won all these beauty pageants y'know..." she snuffled again and managed a wavery smile at the Joker who smiled down at her encouragingly.

"Sounds your mommy passed on a few useful traits at least," he observed and Fancy brightened.

"Yeah. She was so beautiful; I used to watch her float around the house looking like an angel and dreaming I could grow up to look like her... Daddy always used to tell her how lovely she was... and he was so proud of me anytime I won. He'd always hug me then."

Cannily, the Joker drew her into a warm hug, resting a palm against the back of her head. "See? He does love you, Francine," he reassured her.

"Trust me, it didn't last" Fancy snorted, beginning to snivel again. "That was my last year in high school. I went on to one of the best colleges in the country- after Daddy built them a new library, of course. I tried to make it work, really I did, but what was the point? You know? There was... I just... I just wanted it to be like highschool and it was but there was other stuff too like keggers and luaus and parties and parties and well, I ended up flunkin' out. First time in my whole life Daddy ever yelled at me. Said I'd never amount to anything." Fancy drew in a deep breath and for a moment there was silence as the Joker gently stroked her hair and the distraught girl clung to his lapels.

"But at least he'd paid attention to you, right Francine?" the Joker continued silkily. "Perhaps that's why you've continued your very public mischief over the last few years, hurm? If you can't win his love by being good..."

Fancy sobbed pitifully and nodded fiercely. "I just want someone who loves me," she wailed. "Seems like I got a lotta friends – til the going gets rough anyway! Plenty of boyfriends – dirtbag losers who treat me like an ATM or a blow up doll! But it doesn't matter! None of them matter! Look at me now – got my own show, my own place... got you. I got it all!" With a hysterical laugh the girl threw herself onto the Joker's lap and buried her face in his neck, her shoulders shaking with emotion. The Joker shushed her soothingly, patting her gently on the back.

After a moment or two of rocking her like a baby, something between them seemed to change. The Joker's eyes snapped open just as Fancy stopped weeping and she sat back and gazed up soulfully into the infamous clown's glittering gaze. For a long, tense moment they simply looked at each other and then their faces began to move closer together.

At the last moment before their lips touched, the Joker shifted his head, pressing his mouth to her forehead. Fancy gasped, her mouth quivering, her eyes welling with fresh tears.

The Joker finished the chaste kiss and then turned his head to the camera, narrowing his eyes, before taking her face in both hands again and looking seriously down at her. "Francine- Fancy- forgive me if this seems a bit forward, but I think we should continue this in the bedroom."

Without a word Fancy rose unsteadily from the couch and led the Joker to her bedroom, her stride still wobbly from the alcohol. When they reached the doorway, Joker turned to the cameras with a cold grin. "Sorry folks, private time" he said as he firmly closed the bedroom door.

A/N

An Open Letter to DC COmics:

I have your cat.

Do not be alarmed. Do not contact the police. The cat is in no immediate danger, and will be released unharmed once you have met all of my demands. These demands are not negotiable and must be followed in their entirety if you ever wish to see your cat again.

1) Stop Killing Batman:  
I am somewhat unique among Batfans in that I actually like the Knightfall series. It was interesting to see Batman in a helpless state, and brought home the fact that he is only a man. It was a good idea, well executed and properly timed. That being said there can be too much of a good thing. The most notorious example of this is Batman R.I.P and Final Crisis. Now, I admit that here I am forced to rely on hearsay and Wikipedia because these comics have not yet reached my third world home. However as I understand it, the climax of the story comes when Batman dies as he KILLS DARKSEID WITH A SUPERPOWERED GUN .

Do I really need to say more? Do I really have to address the dozens of problems created by that one sentence? I hope not, because that's a whole essay right there. But clearly, the idea doesn't work. To be fair, I understand that Batman isn't 'really dead', that he's just been sent through time/space/ whatthefuckever. As you might have guessed, I don't think that's much better.  
.

I understand why you 'killed' Superman about a decade ago- sales were flagging and a big media event was needed to bring in the bucks. But you're riding the Dark Knight wave now- your sales are good, and Batman is more popular than ever before. You don't need the attention this idiotic move is bringing you, and it's alienating some of your most loyal fans. We feel, with justification that you're just screwing with us for the sake of screwing with us.

2) Kill Aquaman:

We all have things in our past of which we're not proud. Mistakes we've made, opportunities missed, slips of the tongue, lost weekends, whatever. They happen, you accept it, and you try to move past it. I've no doubt that, thirty odd years ago, a water dwelling hero in orange tights who spoke to fish sounded like a damn fine idea. But history really hasn't borne that idea out, has it? Instead of being a timeless hero, your 'king of the sea' stinks like week-old flounder. From failed comic titles to a terrible cartoon show to one of the worst videogames in history, Aquaman has proven time and again that he should have been thrown back. He's worse than a joke- Aquaman has become a standard for lameness. The character isn't a total loss- for better or worse, he's an established part of the DC universe with deep ties to your other, more succesful heroes. Handled correctly, a final sacrifice by the king of Atlantis could be a truly memorable moment- with strong heroes reduced to tears by their friends nobility. It's right in keeping with his character, and could redeem the whole shameful legacy.

3) Reunite Harley and the Joker: Obvious. She's dull without him, and he works best with an audience.

4)Create Some sort of Lobo/Deadpool Crossover:  
I can't think of two characters who would mesh as well as Lobo and Deadpool. Wade Wilson, the manic Merc With The Mouth, teamed with the Ultimate Bastich, Lobo. The possiblilites for self-mockery and fourth wall breakage are literally ENDLESS. Both characters are largely amoral, lecherous, violent mercenaries- it would be the ultimate buddy comedy, with a chance to really develop the characters (showing them with their guards down). Hell, I'd bet it'd do well enough to justify an ongoing series, mixing your talent with Marvel's!

5) Lock Frank Miller and Grant Morrisson in a room full of sharp objects. Inform them that There Can Be Only One. Kill the winner.

6)Start Thinking Before You License Videogames:  
Mortal Kombat Versus Dc. Really? It doesn't astonish me that this got made- bad game ideas are nothing new after all, and the industry often takes some really wild risks. What staggers me is that when someone from the game company called your offices, your reaction seems to have been "Now that's a brilliant idea. Let's stick in Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman and what the heck, let's toss in the Joker too". It's not like this is the first stupid videogame you've given your OK to either. Superman 64, Aquaman... it's a long list. Just THINK before you agree to these things, and it'll be a step in the right direction.

And if you absolutely MUST do this stuff, leave the Joker out of it.

7) Give me a job, Dammit!

If these demands are not met, your cat will remain with me.


	10. Chapter 10

Sun filtered in through cream muslin curtains, dappling on the beige wall against which stood Holly's bed; identical in its timber frame and cream and caramel linen as in every other room of the Athenian Women's Shelter.

Next to the bed sat a plain timber table on which was a potted canna-lily, its glossy green leaves spraying out across the bedhead, sunlight turning them luminous as though they were lit from within.

Curling on the pillow, not far from where the leaves trailed against the wood, was a coil of brunette hair, touched burgandy by the ray of sun that fell across it. That thick lock of hair fanned across the stark fairness of the linen, holding Holly in thrall as she watched the sun play through its strands, bringing out hidden highlights. She followed its path across the pillow up to where its owner lay: Shellee, naked and seeming to glow, lying stretched out on Holly's bed and gazing up at her with lidded eyes, looking as luxurious and seductive as a cat.

Holly, also naked, knelt onto the foot of the bed and bent forward, pressing a warm kiss upon Shellee's ankle, the olive skin smooth against her lips. Shellee responded by shifting a little and stretching her arms up above her head, pulling her round breasts with their small, dark nipples into relief. Holly ran a carressing hand up Shellee's thigh and trailed her mouth up along her calf, loving the way her lover's body curved and dipped.

Her teasing path of kisses had almost reached their ultimate destination when Holly's bedroom door was rudely kicked open, hitting the wall with a terrific crash. Shellee shrieked and yanked a pillow from under her head to conceal her naked body. Holly leapt off the bed, instantly poised to fight, fists raised and head lowered, her impressive naked musculature taut in the afternoon sun.

"Holleeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!" a wailing Harley Quinn shrieked.

"Harley?" Holly replied in astonishment, quickly replaced by irritation. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Harley stormed up and down the panelled floorboards, oblivious to Shellee's frantic fumbling for more adequate coverage.

"I just can't believe it, Holls, just when I thought it was all going to be alright it's gone straight to garbage city -"

"Harley," Holly tried to interrupt, but Harley continued her frenzied chattering, her face red and her ponytails mussed.

" - I just can't _believe_ that nobody else believes I just wanna _move on_, no, everyone else is _trailin' in the dust_, why is it that I'm the only one lookin' to the horizon -"

"Harley -" Holly tried again as Shellee indignantly shook out her toga and pushed past her lover. Holly made a snatch for her arm, but Shellee shrugged it off.

"I'll come back later when you're not busy," she said dryly and marched past Harley, who remained oblivious to her.

" - funny, ain't it, you'd think a fella who could fly so high might be able to see beyond the enda his nose, but nooooooo that big blue baffoon hadda screw _everythin' _up -"

"HARLEY!" Holly shrieked and Harley yelped and fell silent, blinking at Holly in astonishment.

"Why ya in the buff, Holls?" Harley enquired curiously, staring openly at Holly's body.

Holly sighed in exasperation and snatched her shelter-issue white robe from the back of her timber desk chair.

" For your information, Harley, I was _about_ to get laid," she snapped.

Harley looked around the room with a searching expression, then looked incredulously at her friend with one eyebrow raised. "Having special 'alone' time?" she quipped.

In one smooth motion Holly scooped up a cushion and threw it at Harley's head, where it bounced off and tumbled to the floor. Harley stared down at it, then screwed up her mouth.

"Boy, are _you_ in a mood," she said blithely. "It's ok, I get a little aggro when I'm feelin' antsy too."

Holly flopped down onto her bed and threw her hands up. "Harley, what is it? You really interrupted something."

Reminded of her trauma, Harley's lower lip wobbled and she threw herself onto the bed next to Holly, burying her face in the mattress and gripping a fistful of linen in each hand.

" Oh it's soo awful Holleeee!" she wailed. "That horrible bully Stuporham showed up at Si's place and totally gave the game away! Now Simon knows _everythin' _and it's all gone straight to ole blazey town on a one-way train!"

Holly blinked as Harley bawled into the sheets. "Sooo -" she began uncertainly, "Superman told Simon about your past?"

" No!" Harley sat up, wiping at her flushed, wet cheeks. "That silly old blue cheese showed up to ask me about what Mist – the Joker was up to and I told him straight out I didn't know. But he asked me in fronta Simon and then _he_ wanted to know how I knew Superspam and so I told him and he – he – he -" Harley's lip trembled again and then she burst into another jag of crying, screwing her face up and fisting her hands in her lap.

Holly was immediately solicitous, shuffling over next to her friend and stroking her blonde hair gently.

"Oh Harley, I'm so sorry he dumped you, I -"

"_Dumped_ me?" Harley's eyes flew open and she gazed at Holly with a strangely wild expression. "He didn't dump me, Holly! He did the exact opposite!"

Confused, Holly cocked her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

Harley's red eyes grew bright with sudden anger and she scowled cutely. "I shoulda known!" she blurted. "I shoulda guessed! He's just so – so – _nice_!"

Holly took a hold of Harley's shoulders and gave them a shake. "Harley, _what_ did he do?"

Harley sat up straight with indignation, glaring at her friend. "Get this, Holls – he gave me a pat on the shoulder and said 'it's ok sweetie, we all make mistakes'!" Harley adjusted her voice into a dopey-sounding mimicry then hit the mattress with her fists. "Oooh!"

"Wha - ?" Holly gaped at Harley in disbelief. Harley nodded vigorously.

" I _know_, right? Can ya believe it? God, he was just so _nice_ about it. Told me I was a poor little thing, and how horrible it all must've been and how I've been through soooo much and I just must be soooo traumatised and now he understood why sometimes I acted weird – ha, like _I _ever act weird – but that I shouldn't worry because he loved me no matter what and was gonna take care of me forever and ever and that he admired me soooo much being so resilient but that I didn't have to pretend anymore cos he was gonna help me to heal my 'poor damaged spirit'," Harley quote-marked her final words and then took in a deep breath. Before she could begin with another tirade, Holly leapt in.

"Wait – wait – let me get this straight, Harley," Holly lifted her hands and twined fingers into her red hair as she struggled to make sense of her friend's ravings. Harley wiped her nose with the back of her hand and sniffled, looking at Holly with wide eyes.

Holly sighed then folded her hands in her lap and looked steadily at Harley.

"Simon asked you about your past?"

Harley nodded, lips pressed together.

"And you told him the whole truth, right? About the Joker and everything?"

Harley nodded again.

"And he accepted it – he didn't freak out – he said he wanted to stay with you and support you?"

Harley nodded a final time.

Holly threw her hands up in the hair. "Harley, I don't understand! What's the problem here? Do you have any idea how many other guys would've bolted for the hills to learn something like that about their girlfriend?"

Harley scowled again and punched the mattress hard. "But that's just it, Holly – he's so darn _nice_ about everythin', all the time. He just – he just – yick!" Harley shuddered violently. "He's always being sweet and doin' things for me and won't let me do _anythin'_ and he has no idea how to touch me or take _proper _care of me – you know what I mean - and he's always pussy-footin' around and askin' me if I'm okay with this or that like he's got no cajones. It's really beginnin' to gross me out!"

Holly touched a hand to her forehead, feeling the first twinges of a headache. "Harley – most people would _kill_ to have a partner that considerate. Just what is the real issue here?"

Harley bit her lip and looked away quickly.

Holly pressed her lips together and gazed sternly at her friend. She'd always suspected it, of course – but she'd really begun to think – to hope – Harley was moving past her personal demon once and for all.

"The issue is that he's not the Joker – isn't it?" she accused

Harley leapt off the bed and began pacing the room again. "What? No!" she snapped. "The issue is that he's just so – so – ugh, so ineffectual! Such a wuss!"

" A wuss?" Holly got off the bed too, confronting her flustered friend. "You've got to be kidding me. Harley – you were an insane killer! For pity's sake, you loved the freakin' Joker – you raised hell for that – any supervillain who's even heard about you wants to steer well-clear! Even knowing this about you, the guy's chosen to stick by your side! That's _courage,_ Harley – or _chutzpah_ if you prefer."

Harley flapped an irritated hand and turned away to continue pacing as Holly roused on her.

" Furthermore, you think Simon hasn't considered what _the Joker_ himself might do if he ever found out about you and him? Huh? You bet your _'tuchus_' he has – and he's still going to see it out. Seriously, Harley, you - "

"What the Joker would do?" Harley spun around on Holly, her eyes bright. "Are ya kiddin'? Mist – the Joker has moved right on without me, or ain'tcha been keepin' up with the latest hot gossip?" Harley put her hands on her hips and stomped a sandalled-foot. "It ain't fair – he's moved on with some bimbo and I'm stuck with a freakin' middle-class lawyer in uptown Metropolis!" The contempt in Harley's voice was raw and Holly folded her arms across her breasts and shook her head in disbelief.

"Not many people from our life get a second chance, Harley," she said quietly.

Harley stomped her foot again, this time half-heartedly. "It's just always the same, Holls," she mumbled. "They all think I was some sorta victim. Some sorta stupid, gullible little airhead who didn't know her heart from her noggin."

Holly felt a curious combination of sympathy and frustration with her friend. She knew Harley's relationship with the Joker and subsequent life of crime had been more complicated than most had ever realised – that Harley was by no means any sort of angel – but in her heart she had the potential for good and furthermore had been gifted with an incredible opportunity to build a new life for herself – and didn't appreciate it. That was Harley all over – whim and instant gratification, an aversion to anything she decided was boredom – even if it was a dream come true for others.

But before Holly could say anything, the clock on Holly's desk chimed and Harley made a dash for the door.

"Oh gawd, it's already halfway through, can't miss it!" she shrieked.

"Harley?" Holly exasperatedly called after her. "Oh, for the love of -" Holly took after her, running through the Shelter corridors to the lounge room, where Harley leapt onto one of the couches and snatched up the remote control, switching the big television on.

The screen was immediately filled with the, to Holly's eyes, grotesque scene of Fancy Carlton with her peroxided hair and orange-tan luminescent against the neon-pink mini-dress she wore, snuggled up against the Joker's long, lanky body clad in purple suit and bright orange shirt. Fancy was gazing soulfully, if a little blurrily, into the Joker's poisonous gaze and he smiled down at her with an expression that was oddly – fatherly.

Harley let out a choked squeaking noise at the sight and leaned forward on her crossed-knees. "Look," she shrieked excitedly. "What did I tell ya? Look at him, puttin' the moves on that dumb girl who don't know no better!" She came to an abrupt halt and chewed down on her lip.

Holly sighed and leant against the wall, crossing her arms. "Why are you torturing yourself like this, Harley?" she asked despairingly.

"It's not torture!" Harley snapped, gritting her teeth in a nasty mask of snap fury that took Holly aback. "It's – a reminder. Of the lucky escape I had. Look!"

Holly looked, grimacing. Fancy appeared to be confiding in the Joker – some sob story about a lonely childhood and how misunderstood she was that made Holly sneer – _wanna swap?_ she thought in response to Fancy's whining. But more compelling was the Joker's behaviour – he held both Fancy's hands in his own, his hip pressed against hers, gazing attentively down into her tear-streaked face with what appeared to be absolute focus. When Fancy burst into tears, he wrapped a solicitous arm around her shoulder and clucked to her in soft, comforting noises. When Fancy flung her arms around his neck, he held her head close against his chest, stroking her hair softly and then started to gently rock her. His actions – the motion of his long, articulate fingers, the curve of his comforting arms, the straightness of his spine as he supported the distraught girl – all were exceptionally tender and considerate – yet because they came from the Joker they at once seemed hopelessly grotesque. Holly found it repellant, not least because somehow it was so convincing.

But he couldn't be sincere – could he?

She stole a glance at Harley and started. Her friend was still kneeling up and leaning forward, but now she was clutching her stomach, her face twisted into a grimace of agony and conflict.

Holly looked back at the television. The Joker had cupped Fancy's chin in one large hand, his fingers curling softly onto her cheeks. With his other, he pushed a strand of hair back off her face, tucking it carefully behind her ear. Something twinged in Holly and she shuddered – the appeal of his tenderness was universal to any little girl who'd grown up without a father – and clearly Fancy had been one of them. She was utterly under the Joker's spell, staring up at him with a slack lower lip, her eyes wide and trusting.

As Fancy poured out the story of a university life ended in failure after one too many parties, Harley let out a soft, pained noise and when Holly looked over at her, she had covered her mouth with one hand, her face flushed bright red beneath it. Her shoulders heaved with some unexplained emotion and she looked truly as though she might throw up.

On the screen, Fancy once again threw herself across the Joker's lap and the vile madman rocked her gently, shushing her in soothing tones. Holly looked from Harley to the television and then back again. Harley was shuddering violently, bringing her hands into clenched fists by her hips, her eyes bright and red as Fancy lifted her head to look into the Joker's face soulfully while he gazed back. As one, their heads moved together and both Holly and Harley held their breath as the inevitable approached.

Suddenly, the Joker shifted direction, pressing his bright red lips to the girl's forehead. Fancy gasped, then shut her eyes rapturously, pressing her forehead onto the clown's mouth, seeming overwhelmed.

Harley, meanwhile, snapped.

With a scream that steadily rose in pitch, the petite blonde threw herself across the room and, with her enhanced strength, lifted the giant set off the wall and threw it across the room, where it crashed into the bookcase, sending it toppling into a mess of sparks, wires and smoking paper.

"HARLEY!" Holly shouted for what seemed the hundredth time that afternoon.

"SHADDUP!" Harley screeched back, "don't you even think about lecturing me, Miss Goody Two-Shoes Robinson! You don't know what I just saw, right there," she pointed a trembling hand at the mess of television, then tore at her hair. "It's the same!" she wailed, as running feet echoed in the corridor. "All the same! The leering goon don't even have the class to change his act!"

Several women appeared in the doorway, straining to see what was going on. Harley was in a fury, having whirled on one of the couches and begun tearing it apart.

Holly bowled into her from the side, knocking her away as one of the women went screaming for Athena.

"You have to stop, Harley!" Holly shook her friend vigorously. Harley screeched and pushed Holly violently off her. Holly landed hard on her back and wheezed, the wind knocked out of her.

" You. Don't. Get. It!" Harley said through gritted teeth as she rose to her feet. "It's the same. Damn. Moves. He used on _me_! Right down to the peck on the forehead! When I was treatin' him in Arkham – he did those same damn things to me, got me all talkin' about my childhood and weepin' and pullin' me onna his lap and rockin' me like I was a baby – like I was his baby – and strokin' _my_ hair – and now, here he is, doin' the exact same thing to some other poor dumb twit who don't know any better, who thinks he _means_ it, who thinks he _cares_, and she's got no idea, _no idea_ what she's in for, what – what he could _do_ – how he could _screw her life up_ – and I'm the only one who knows – _cos he did the same damn thing to ME!"_

Harley kicked the coffee table, sending it hurtling into a wall. The other women had scattered, unwilling to get involved with the outraged blonde but Holly knew Athena and the other leaders would be there soon – and this could very well lead to expulsion for Harley. She had to get her passionate friend under control.

"I'm sorry he did that to you, Harley," she began carefully from where she lay on the carpet and Harley looked at her with some strange hope in her eyes. "I'm sorry he's claiming another victim. But everyone knows he twisted your mind -"

Harley's expression flooded with rage again. "Not a one of you gets it!" she cried. "Screw this for a joke – I'm blowin' this lousy joint."

Harley whirled on her heel and stormed towards the door, just as a group of officious looking women approached.

"Enjoy your 'urbal tea and navel-gazin', ladies, Harley Quinn is sailin' free!" she announced, pushing past the women who glared after her.

And then she was gone.

**oooo**

Simon sat on the couch of his living room, watching his television with mute horror.

If there was anything that burned at Simon Goldberg's core, it was an abiding flame of decency. A nobility of spirit that despised seeing others harmed or wronged in any fashion.

But add a personal element to the mix – an intimate one – and he found it absolutely unbearable.

He felt nauseated by what he had just witnessed – by the entire distressing situation. He burned with righteous indignation, by an overwhelming desire to protect the strange, loveable, daffy woman who had come into his life with her extraordinary past and her sweet spirit.

It wasn't that he wasn't frightened. He was scared stiff. He was dating the Joker's ex-girlfriend for Heaven's sake! _Of course_ he was petrified – no matter how occupied the Joker seemed with his new conquest, he was still a psychotic killer who might feel some sense of ownership over his ex – but Simon was in far too deep now and couldn't abandon the lost soul that had come to Metropolis looking for redemption – and had found him.

He just hoped Harley had not seen the latest episode of _Fancy Living_.

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, then his front door flew open and Harley stormed in, her pigtails in disarray, her face blotchy and her expression contorted.

"You saw it," Simon said flatly.

She stood there in his living room, panting heavily, clutching her hands by her sides.

"I saw it," she confirmed angrily.

Immediately he leapt to his feet and dashed over to her, wrapping his arms around her petite frame and pulling her in close against him. He felt her stiffen, but persisted.

"I know, darling, I know how this must hurt you," he tried to soothe her. "I know that seeing him get away with all that he did to you, to ruin your life and break your spirit, must be like rubbing salt in the wound. But we're going to get through this, you and I. I'm here for you. He can't hurt you anymore." He said all the things he imagined his sweet girlfriend would want to hear, the things that would most comfort her. The truth was, he had no idea what to do in this sort of situation – it was well beyond the realm of his experience – all he knew was that he wanted to stand by Harley. That he had to.

Harley pushed him furiously away, darting across the room to stand in front of the tall balcony doors, gazing out at the city. Simon's heart ached for her. In so many ways she was so childish – and now, standing there alone, she seemed like nothing more than a lost little girl.

"Don't push me away, darling," he beseeched her gently, feeling that he had to tread carefully lest he send her skittering away. He resolved to use the techniques he had learned in the spot-counselling course he had taken in case of traumatic revelations by clients. "I don't expect you to just open yourself up to me completely. I wouldn't ask that of you. I know your trust has been betrayed in the worst possible way. But that's over. What's done is done. And I want you to know I'll wait. However long it takes you, I'll wait. I'm ready to be here for you."

Slowly, Harley turned around to face him, her expression curious and strangely canny, assessing him with narrowed eyes.

"You ain't afraid, even a little?" she queried him roughly.

Simon let out a gasping laugh. "Of course I am -" he said, and Harley cocked her head. "I mean, this is the Joker we're talking about, I'd be a fool not to be scared, but -" Harley had started frowning again. " - but not so afraid I won't stand by you. I don't judge you by your past," he finished firmly.

"You really are too _good_ for me you know," Harley said sourly and though he thought there was a different nuance to it than there had been when she'd said it previously, he merely shook his head. It was only to be expected that she would be defensive right now – on her guard. She had to protect her shattered heart.

"I think I'm just right for you," he countered, drawing closer. He only had to get close enough to let her step into his arms. Then she'd be that little bit closer to surrendering her defences. He'd never met anyone like this special, unique girl before and the desire to keep her in his life was urgent. "I can give you everything you need – stability, dependability, normalcy. But more than that – I _want_ to give that to you." After her traumatic life, he imagined it must sound blissful. Harley blinked at him, her expression unreadable, as he stepped carefully towards her."All that horror – it's _behind _you now, if you just look ahead with me. It's over. AndI can help you, Harley. Help you put the past behind you once and for all."

Harley's expression wavered and her eyes clouded over. "Can you just?" her voice was tinged with irony and she took a step back from him.

He stopped, held his hands out towards her, gazed into the crystal-blue eyes of the delightful, playful, loving woman who had made his life so incredibly happy.

"You were just a child – a naïve child – when you met him," he said quietly to her. "How were you to know? He drew you into his trap, told you the things you wanted to hear, played on your weaknesses. Ruined your whole life, made you give it up – subjected you to unspeakable horrors. Then he used you and abused you and cast you away. But I don't blame you, Harley – you were the victim here."

Harley's demeanour changed in a snap.

Her eyes narrowed and her lip curled up in a sneer as her face grew ugly with rage. In that moment she was unrecognisable to him and he felt nothing but fear of the monster that stood before him.

"I loved every second," she snarled at him and then stepped forward, drew back her arm and punched him hard across the jaw.

**

_Yes, Joker uses the exact same moves on Fancy – to read about how he used them on Harley, see my fiction – Arkham Asylum: Tainted Love._

_Watch Harley interact in her relationships – particularly with the Joker. When she gets angry, what happens? She gets violent. Without hesitation, she lashes out to cause serious bodily harm. _

_It was with some sadness I realised she would do the same to Simon. I hope I'm not going to get a bunch of reviews cheering that part on. If I do, then I've written it wrong – it's meant to be tragic, a statement of her own inability to function in a normal relationship or modify her behaviour beyond impulse. And Simon doesn't deserve it. _


	11. Chapter 11

Sunlight gently streamed through the window of Fancy's bedroom, causing the young heiress to stir from her sleep. She couldn't remember when she'd slept so well- the partying and sex of the night before had worn her out, and when she'd finally closed her eyes she'd fallen instantly into a deep sleep. She yawned and sat up, before looking to her left with a satisfied smile on her face. Beside her, the Joker slept on, wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, only the tip of his long nose visible. In a rare moment of consideration, Fancy decided not to wake him- they'd been pretty energetic the night before, and older men (even surprisingly virile ones!) needed their sleep. She quietly rose from the bed and made her way to her private bathroom.

Like everything else in Fancy's apartment, the bathroom was a study in gaudy luxury. Gold taps were affixed to both the sink and the bathtub, while ivory was used to make the handles on the drawers and cupboards. A full length mirror covered one wall, and all the towels were pure white Egyptian cotton. The only real trouble, from Fancy's perspective, was the lighting. It was bright and harsh and often unforgiving- after a night of hedonistic partying and excess, the last thing the vain young woman wanted were bright lights. They tended to show all the small things she normally tried to ignore, like baggy eyes, stringy hair and vomit-stains. Today, however, was an exception. Fancy didn't know if it was the fun at the club or a remnant of last night's sexual ecstasy, but she felt positively radiant.

She hopped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her body, and was surprised at how it stung in places. A close examination revealed small bite marks, hickeys, and bruises across her upper body, mainly at her shoulders and breasts. She laughed softly- apparently she'd had a better time last night than she'd noticed. The Joker really was the most exciting lover she'd ever had. He wasn't the most skilled or imaginative, but he had... something...which she'd never experienced before. Maybe it was the glamour and excitement of sex with the world's most notorious murderer. Maybe it was the pent-up sexuality of a man who'd done without for a long time, giving his performance extra vigor. Or maybe it was just that she felt closer to the Joker than to any other man in her life, an almost spiritual connection really.

Finishing up her shower, she toweled off and returned to the bedroom, where the former master criminal was just beginning to awaken. The lanky man rolled out from under the covers and stretched his tall, naked frame, producing an audible crackling sound. As she had the night before Fancy found herself spellbound by the Joker's body- not only was he far more muscular than she'd expected (or hoped) but his entire body was covered in scars. These scars were barely visible unless looked at very closely, covered as they were by the Joker's own unnatural skin color. They ranged from a few small cuts on his hands to what looked suspiciously like bullet wounds on his chest and what appeared to be the marks of a rope around his neck. They drove home just what sort of life this man- HER man- had lived, and how much he'd overcome.

Leaning over the bed, Fancy rested a hand on his bony shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "Morning lover" she said patting his shoulder "Sleep well?"

To her surprise, the Joker just turned and looked at her blankly, as though he didn't know who she was. It was actually a little creepy. Then, suddenly, his face broke into his characteristic grin. "Ah, Francine! Or should I say, Venus?"

"Um, who's Venus?" Fancy asked feeling a bit puzzled. "Don't you like my name?"

"Of course I do, Francine." The Joker cooed, pulling her close and nuzzling her hair "Just my little joke, that's all. So! What's on the agenda for today, my girl?"

"Well, I kinda want to meet up with my girlfriends for a little, y'know… gal time." Fancy said, stroking the Joker's chin idly. "Will you be all right on your own?"

"Oh, I expect so. " the clown replied with a sly smile. "I have one or two things that need doing as well. But won't the producer be displeased that we're splitting up for the day?"

Fancy snorted. "Like I care what those suits say! Anyway, they can just send two cameras over, and film us both, right?"

Joker nodded slowly. "Yes, that might work. They'd get double their coverage, then, wouldn't they?"

"Yup" Fancy said, rolling off the bed and heading for her closet. "I'm taking Britina, Lindsey and Orlean out shopping, then lunch at the Regency- you remember? We had lunch there one time?"

"Oh yes" the Joker replied, buttoning up his waistcoat as he admired himself in a mirror. "We ate their after going to that quaint store of yours- Heroes? Herrimans? Ah, now I remember! Herod's, that's it. Such a delightful name- always brings to mind images of imperial luxury, ancient glory, mindboggling decadence, and a mountain of murdered infants, their blood pooling on the ground."

"Um… okay…" Fancy said, not sure how seriously to take that. "Afterwards, though, I wanna get some exercise. There's a pool up on the roof of this building, heated an' all. You wanna go fer a swim?"

"Certainly, Francine, I'll pick up some swimming trunks on my way back from the jew-" the Joker paused awkwardly for a split-second before continuing "er- the Jewish part of town. Yes."

Fancy broke out in a wide smile which she quickly suppressed. 'Jewelers? He's buying me jewelry already?! That is SO sweet!'

Fancy was about to press for details when there was a knock at the door. Shooting a glance at the clock, Fancy rose and began to dress. "That must be the cameraman- listen, go keep 'em occupied while I get ready for today, 'kay?"

After selecting a suitably chic outfit, Fancy picked up her cell phone and dialed the producer. "Listen, Morry, I need another cameraman. Wh- No, I have not chased Mike away. No- SHUT UP! Listen, I'm gonna go hang out with my friends- you know the ones, they're always good for ratings, right? But Joker wants to go shopping, for jewelery I think… What? Yeah, I think he means to pay for it. No, Morry, that's not good enough. Now, either you get a second camera down here in half an hour or I call the big bosses at the network and tell 'em you're making it impossible for me to work. What? Well, that's not my problem Morry. Just get a cameraman here NOW. Byeee!"

Hanging up, Fancy heard the sound of the Joker's wild laughter coming from the living room. She knew the Joker was reformed now, so she didn't give it too much thought. When she stepped outside, she was surprised to see him doing card tricks for the camera. At the moment, he was 'shooting' the deck from one hand to the other, spraying the cards in a perfect arc through the air without any apparent effort.

"… So you see kids, life is just a gamble, and the house has the game rigged! So bet big! If you're going to lose anyway, you might as well do so in style!" Joker laughed, allowing the cards to settle in a neat pile in one palm. "Go for the gusto, take risks, seize the day, etcetera etcetera blah blah blah! HA!"

"Glad to see you've got tricks that can be used outside the bedroom" Fancy said as she walked over to Joker's side"So, like, Morry should have another cameraguy here in a few minutes. Why don't we have some breakfast? I worked up a big appetite last night. How's about some of those awesome scrambled eggs you make?"

Breakfast went by quietly, interrupted briefly by the arrival of the new cameraman Leonard. The tall man seemed unfazed by working with the Joker. When Davey asked about that, the man simply shrugged.  
"Listen kiddo, I served in the Marine Corps for five years. Then, I worked for CNN in Bosnia AND Iraq, covering the wars and terror campaigns. If he isn't spraying me with machine-gun fire or firing rockets at me, I ain't too worried" he said, helping himself to some toast. "Good toast, whole wheat?"

After breakfast, Fancy and the Joker split off to start their first day apart.

Joker and Leonard stepped out of Fancy's apartment building and tried to hail a cab. This was not as problematic as it might first sound. By long experience, Gotham cabbies had learned that if you pick up a man in bizarre clothes there was a chance he'd rob or kill you, but that if you deliberately snubbed him there was a better chance he'd hunt you down later, or simply open fire right then and there. Thus, the two were soon on their way across town.

Traffic was typical of a Gotham morning- movement was sluggish but constant, with brief standstills as well as clear spots. Joker took this opportunity to continue his "conversation" with the audience.

"…and it isn't as though I've never had female company before. As I said earlier, there have been many young women who've thrown themselves at me. Myself, I think it's the nose- women see a man with a large nose and they wonder if everything else is in proportion. But I digress… in all that time, after all those meaningless flings, it's nice to meet a young lady as special as Francine. Intelligent, kind, and absolutely dynamite in the sack! Truly, a rare jewel… one that deserves the finest gift I can arrange. Oooh I can't wait to see the look of surprise on her face when I give her her present! Speaking of surprises, Leonard, would it be possible for you to keep the camera off the jewels when we're shopping? I don't want anyone, not even the folks at home, to know what I get her until she gets it."

Leonard nodded and allowed that that might be possible. Joker had to admit, he was somewhat impressed by the man. Most lemmings were terrified by him, and would respond in one of two ways. Either they would become tryingly sycophantic in an attempt to curry his favor, or they would become tediously defiant in an attempt to mask their fear. But Leonard seemed genuinely calm and unfazed.

Eventually, traffic eased as the last of the morning commuters reached their offices. The limousine then smoothly glided the rest of the way to Gotham's diamond district. Once there, the Joker instructed the driver to park anywhere since "I prefer to do my shopping on foot- makes it easier to spot good finds donchaknow".

After a few blocks of window-shopping (and drinking in the terrified reactions of passersby) Joker stopped in a small, unassuming jewelery store. At first glance, it seemed an unlikely place for the former Rogue to shop. The store was small with relatively few display cases in view. However, it was the contents of those cases that made Jackman's Fine Jewels unusual. Rather than the usual wide assortment of generic rings and accessories, Jackman's focused on unusual pieces. Some were absolutely unique, created specially by the store's small stable of jewelers. Others were made-to-order by wealthy clients, placed on display only until their new owners came to pick them up.

Moving slowly down the aisle, he examined the various items on display, before stopping. The store clerk, who had watched enough Fancy Living to know this was not likely to be a robbery, hurried over. The truth was, she was eager to meet the former Clown Prince of Crime- he was so dapper and charming! Besides, the owners were always complaining about how hard it was to get good exposure in this town- if Joker bought something here, it could mean big publicity for the store and a nice fat bonus for her.

"Yes sir" she said, making sure not to look directly at the camera. She'd heard that was a big television no-no. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. I'm looking for a gift for a young lady friend… Well, quite a lot more than a friend, actually" The Joker said a little shyly "I'd like something special, something unique. Something that will show her that I am always thinking of her."

"Well, how about this ring?" the clerk said, tapping a display case. "It's a three karat sapphire in a silver band- it's expensive enough to show how important she is to you without committing you to anything you aren't ready for."

Joker frowned in thought before shaking his head. "No, no. It's a lovely piece, don't get me wrong, but it's a bit... well, plain. I want something unique, something unusual, something that says something about her and about me. Oh, and since this IS meant to be a surprise, could you not describe the pieces in front of the cameras?"

The young lady blushed, embarrassed by her lack of forethought. Of course he wanted to keep the purchase secret! How could she not have understood that to start with? Stupid! Aloud, her voice remained deferential and calm. "Of course, sir, please excuse me. Now, how about this?" she tapped another part of the same case. "It's a little pricier, but I think the colors really do set it apart from most jewelry, don't you?"

Joker examined the ring in question. It was a small band of jet-black onyx, in which three round stones had been set. The largest stone was an emerald, about two karats in size. To the left was a one karat amethyst, it's purple surface polished smooth. On the right was an opal of matching size, it's milky white color contrasting nicely with the black ring. After a pause, he shook his head. "It's lovely, but still not quite right. What do you have in earrings?"

For the next half an hour, the young lady led her client through the store, carefully showing him different pieces. Each one was well-selected and tasteful, earning nothing but praise from the Joker, but none seemed to be quite right. It seemed as though he were about to leave, when she snapped her fingers and rushed into the backroom. After a moment, she emerged carrying a small box. When she reached the Joker, the clerk opened it, careful to keep its contents out of sight of the camera.

"This was made to order by a wealthy client of ours. Unfortunately, he lost a great deal of money in last years financial troubles and wasn't able to meet the price. It strikes me that this would be perfect for your needs."

Joker seemed to be awestruck. Slowly he nodded his head. "Yes. This is EXACTLY what I've been looking for. Wrap it up- don't bother about the price, I'll find a way to pay for it somehow. And let me just say, this is the finest service I have ever received in Gotham City."

The clerk smiled. "Here at Jackman's Fine Jewels we pride ourselves on that, sir." 'And THAT ought to satisfy my boss' she thought, already planning how she would spend her bonus check.

Later that evening, Fancy made her way back to the apartment feeling very peculiar. By her normal standards, the day had been a fantastic success. She and her three friends had cruised through Gotham's finest boutiques, trying on several dozen new outfits and spending more money than the average person earned in a year. They'd dined at the Regency, and enjoyed a superb meal of salads, soups, and club sandwiches. All the girls had been dying of jealousy of her new man- Lindsey had nearly choked on her bisque when Fancy rolled up one sleeve to show off one of her hickeys. Once Fancy revealed that Joker had gone to buy her jewelry, the group had burst into happy squeals before ordering a bottle of champagne to celebrate. Fancy knew she should be feeling great- proud, happy and vindicated. But, somehow, her friends praise had felt empty to her. After some thought, she'd realized what was wrong.

She'd grown up. She didn't really care whether her friends were jealous of her or not- it was enough for her that she was happy. She didn't feel excited about the new clothes she'd bought- Joker would appreciate her even if she wore K-Mart fashions. She'd enjoyed being with her friends, but she knew now that she couldn't just spend her life shopping and partying. It was time to think seriously about her future, and of her new man's place in it. 'Won't daddy be surprised?' she mused as she opened the apartment door. 'After all his lectures, it took a former criminal to make me grow up'

"Francine!" Joker called out from his place on the couch "Come on over! Me and Davey were just thinking- the Gotham Theatre Company is giving a showing of Paggliaci on Thursday night. Why don't we get dressed up to the nines and go? I do love to hear that singing clown"

"Sounds great, Joke-y" Fancy said, sitting down next to the older man and kissing him. "What did you boys get up to today? Anything I should know about?"

Joker chuckled and patted his coat pocket. "Ah, Francine, you can read me like a book. I did get you a little something which I think will greatly surprise you when you receive it. But I can't reveal my purchase just yet, I want to do the engraving myself."

Fancy felt like swooning. "That is, like, SO totally romantic! You are so sweet!"

Joker laughed softly. "Guilty as charged, m'dear! Now, how about that swim?"

A/N  
I'm sorry this chapter was so long delayed. I have no excuse- time just got away from me.

I took some heat for my comments about Grant Morrison and Frank Miller last chapter, so I thought I'd take some time to explain them. I don't actually dislike Grant Morrison's work, but he does have some flaws. Sometimes his stories are a little hard to follow, the pacing can be inconsistent and his stories sometimes have some big plot holes (like Batman RIP where apparently like half the city knew Batman's secret identity, and yelled about it in the streets to alert the other half). But these aren't major flaws, just a call for a good editor to clean things up a bit.  
My problem with Morrison is that he's over-hyped. People talk about him as though he's one of the greatest comic writers of all time, and that gets irritating after a while.

As for Frank Miller… (sigh) My God, Frank Miller…

Frank Miller is an overhyped hack. Sure, he's made some good comics in the past- 300, Dark Knight Returns, and so forth. But he's always had flaws, and in recent years those flaws have come to overshadow his strengths.

To begin with, he has the habit of giving all of his characters these really unnecessary inner monologues.I've nothing against the monologue- it's a great way to give a character depth. But it can easily be taken way too far- in the Miller-verse, no one can do anything without constantly reflecting on their lives and their actions. Seriously. All Star Batman And Robin opens with Dick Grayson on the trapeze. Now, the trapeze act is an extremely complex routine, even for experienced performers. Timing and coordination have to be perfect, and the whole thing requires absolute focus. It would be logical to assume, then, that a young boy performing this act would only be thinking about what he was doing. But no, instead Dick is thinking about how his parents are always there for him. A nice thought, sure, but not really appropriate given the circumstances. Characters 'speak' in short, choppy sentences (a flaw which carries over to the dialogue) and often repeat themselves ad nauseum. Dick repeats the phrase more than six times during his trapeze scene. While at the circus with Bruce Wayne, all Vicki Vale can think is "I'm on a date with Bruce Wayne". It's virtually the only thing going through her head.

Which brings me to my next point, Miller's appalling treatment of women in his comics.

In the Dark Knight Returns, Selina Kyle has somehow metamorphosized into an overweight pimp, who calls Bruce Wayne when she feels 'lonely'. Bear in mind, there's nothing inherently wrong with this in and of itself- except that they don't fit. Selena Kyle (aka CATWOMAN) is an athletic jewel thief, and no explanation is given as to why she gave up this lucrative and personally satisfying career to take up the role of pimp rather than simply retiring on the vast amount of money she stole. More, she adds almost nothing to the plot, and could have been replaced by a generic character or left out altogether. In short, it seems that Miller wrote her into the story purely so he could degrade her- turning her from a successful self-confident thief into a wrinkled, washed-up sexpot who's still pining for Batman. Guy's got some issues.  
Linkara does a good four minutes about this in his review of All Star Batman And Robin, and frankly says it better than I ever could. Go watch it.

Lastly, there's characterization. The Batman of ASBAR has almost none of the traits we associate with heroes. He abducts Dick Grayson away from the circus, the only home the boy's ever had, and informs him that he's been drafted into a war- JUST A FEW HOURS AFTER THE BOY'S PARENTS WERE MURDERED IN FRONT OF HIM! He then crashes through a police car, presumably killing whoever was inside of it. When Dick gets upset at this frankly psychotic behavior, Batman slaps him. I'm not going to go into a whole rant about everything wrong with those three sentences. All I'm going to say is this: Does that sound like a hero to you?

It gets worse. In Dark Knight Strikes Again Superman, Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel are blackmailed into acting as goons for Lex Luthor. Luthor accomplishes this by threatening the three heroes loved ones. Now, these are the three purest heroes in the DC universe- a champion of truth, the world's biggest Boy Scout, and Captain Frigging Marvel. All three of them would do anything rather than knuckle under to evil, and have often made painful sacrifices when they knew they had to. Yet in the Millerverse all they do is give Luthor dirty looks before flying off to kill for him. Yes, it gets fixed (sort of) later, but the point is they should never have been in that position in the first place.

It's like he has a perverse need to destroy every character he didn't create.

That's why I don't like Frank Miller.

On a happier note, a sequel to Arkham Asylum has been announced and the trailer features Joker and Harley looking out over Gotham City. I'm giggling like a school girl already. Tee hee.


End file.
